


The Most Important Thing

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathtubs, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Masturbation, Non-con urophagia, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Romance, Slow Build, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anders is assaulted, Fenris makes the choice to assist in his recovery. What starts as duty, melds into friendship, which begins to meld into... something more. Angst. Lots of Angst. Tears. Lots of tears. Comfort. Lots of comfort. Please read the tags... triggers abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misdirected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris lose their way in slavers' caverns.

“I’m telling you, this is the wrong set of caves.”

“Shut up, Mage. I know where I am going.”

“Obviously not, Elf, or we’d have met-up with Hawke and the rest by now. Why don’t you just listen to my suggestions?”

“And, why would I trust you to find your way out of a room with one door?”

“Uh, hello? Grey Warden? I’ve been in more caves than you could shake your sword at, moron.”

“Your Circle bedroom antics have no bearing on this.”

“Oh... ho ho.”

And, so the argument went. For hours. 

Fenris was aggravated and irritated. The directions given to them by Isabela were useless. This was the third set of caverns they’d gone into, with no sign of the crew, nor the slaver compound they were going to rout. 

Having Anders with him exacerbated the situation ten-fold. He just never shut up. As hours passed, no closer to their destination, the mage’s comments began to chafe.

He was at it again; “I’m telling you, Elf--”

“Quiet!... listen....” Fenris strained to hear. He was sure he’d caught an echo of a distant voice. It was gone, now. “Someone is here. If you had not been yapping, I could have heard them.”

“Well, excuse me, sirrah--” he was cut short by sudden thud, and the world tipped crazily. They were upended in a large woven net, hanging a man’s height off of the ground.

“Venhedis! Mage! I cannot reach my blade or dagger.”

Anders struggled to reach the elf’s belt. Their weight in the net pulled them together, with no elbow room. “Andraste’s knickers... I can’t reach them, either....”

A laugh echoed in the passage. “Look at this! And we just wanted to keep the wild dogs out....”

Anders began to call up his magic, and was immediately stunned with a blast of someone else’s spell.

“Get the collar on him, before he tries again. And, get them both trussed.”

As the net unceremoniously dropped to the floor of the cavern, they were quickly and efficiently surrounded. Anders’ stunned body was quickly divested of his gear. A thin, rune-encrusted collar was placed around his neck. Four men managed to pin Fenris on his front and disarm him. He flared his lyrium lines as he struggled to reach the men, but found himself buried in heavy, angry bodies, unable to reach even one of them.

“Look at them markings!” shouted one of the men.

“Lyrium, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve heard of that kind of thing. Put suppressing bracelets on him-- best stay out of his reach while you’re doing it, if what I’ve heard’s true.” The leader of the group was standing over the prone captives. Bracelets, like matching jewelry to the collar around Anders' neck, were slapped on his wrists. Fenris felt a cold wash go through his body, and stared in horror as the flare of lyrium stuttered and died. “This just gets better and better. We’ll fetch a handsome price for both of these.”

“NO!” Fenris bellowed. He fought the hands that pulled off his armor, pouches and weapon, catching one man across the head with the heavy manacles still on his wrists. “Mage! wake up! Wake your demon!” That he asked for Justice’s help was a sign even to himself of his desperation. He would not return to slavery. He’d collude with the abomination, first.

Anders was still unconscious. Fenris’ heavy manacles were removed, to prevent further bludgeoning. He was lifted by each limb, and carried deeper within the corridors, with Anders dragged behind. They came to a cavern that had obviously been a slavers pen, judging by the devices there. Gibbets, a rack, chains, stocks. A small room to the side contained a large cage. Into this, both men were unceremoniously thrown. 

“Put some water and a piss pot in there, I don’t want them dying of thirst or infection before I sell them. These are good money, men. This was our lucky day.”

The leader was looking at the two men, now safely caged, lyrium and magic neutralized. “Excellent. I’ll need to make arrangements.” He turned to his men. “You two, stay and mind the merchandise. Especially that elf... I don’t want him injured. He’s gonna bring a higher price than all of you together are worth. You three, with me. We’ll be a day or two, and make arrangements for a sale.”

The two men left behind looked at the prisoners, then shrugged at each other. “They ain’t going no place,” one decided. “Let’s get some food and grog.” They disappeared down a passageway.

Fenris pulled his focus inward, and calmed himself. He’d nearly panicked, before, and it wouldn’t help him. When his heart had slowed, he checked his companion. Still lying motionless, Anders didn’t seem injured, at least. He was breathing evenly through the mop of hair that had come undone and covered his face. “Mage?” He turned him onto his back. Without his robes and pauldrons, wearing pants and tunic that could be worn by any peasant, he seemed... more real, somehow. More human, and less abomination. “Mage!” he said louder, slapping his face.

Anders began to blink. Fenris slapped him, again, leaving a red imprint in his cheek. “Mage!”

Fenris was slapped in return. “Knock it off, Elf,” Anders' griped. He sat up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He took in their situation. “This does not look good."

“We fell into a slaver’s trap. They've placed suppression bands on us both. I cannot phase.”

Anders looked at the bracelets Fenris held out, and felt the collar on his neck. “Shit. I hate these things. Can’t feel my magic... or, Justice.”

“There are two guards down that corridor, and four that will return in a day or so,” Fenris informed him.

“Could you tell where they’re from?” Anders asked.

“No, I could't tell where they're from. What does it matter? Slavery is slavery, regardless who holds the whip,” he snarled. 

“It’d just be nice to know where I’m going, is all I’m saying.”

“You are a fool, as well as an abomination. Do you think you will care where you are, with the bite of the whip on your back? When your entire existence relies upon the whim of your master, and whether or not you please him enough to keep you alive? ”

“You... seem upset.”

“If you had a brain in your demon-infested head, you would be upset. We have both lost our powers. Right now, you are just a skinny fool with a smart mouth. Without the ability to phase, or draw on the lyrium’s energy, I have the same vulnerability as any other man.”

“I’m not that skinny.”

“Shut. Up.”

Fenris paced the cage. He tested each bar, each joint, each bolt. It was old, but sound. He sat down, and inspected the bracelets minutely. They were a light metal, silverite, perhaps. They were deceptively strong, not bending or marking when pounded against the iron bars. The runes on them looked both lyrium and other inlaid metals. There was no discernible hinge. When he moved to inspect Anders’ collar, the mage tilted his head to the side to allow him better access. Aside from its size, it looked very like the bracelets. 

“You’ve seen this kind of device, before?” he asked the mage.

“Yes. I’ve worn them before. Punishment after some escapes from the circle. I hate them.”

“How are they removed?”

“Some sort of runed key, or wand... I never got a good look at it.”

“This is not good,” the elf grumbled.

“Look,” Anders offered. “It’s likely that Hawke and the Misfits are looking for us, even now. If they don’t get to us before we’re sold, you know they’ll stop at nothing to trace us down.”

“That is not acceptable. I cannot be a slave, again.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. Just until Hawke finds us.”

“You do not understand, mage. I cannot...” he stopped, jaw clenched. 

“Fenris... what are you afraid of?” Anders asked.

“You do not fear, because you do not understand, Mage.” Fenris shook himself.

“Help me understand.”

“I will die fighting before I'm enslaved, again.”

“Were you treated badly, as a slave?” The mage’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You are truly, unbelievably, obtuse, aren’t you?”

“Well, I look at you... you’ve obviously been well trained and equipped. Wouldn’t that mean your master... I don’t know... cared a little about you?”

“Cared? Cared about me? A slave? I cannot believe you.” He wanted to throttle the abomination, just close his hands around that insolent throat, and squeeze until the life drained from his eyes.

“Do I care about my sword? Do you care about your boots? I was a tool, a weapon, nothing more. Danarius wanted the finest of all things; jewels, clothing, furniture. I was but a part of his collection. A unique, finely honed, well-trained weapon. A source of power and curiosity. As simply two men, I could have snapped him like a twig. Instead, he wielded the power that all mages use and abuse. He was able to command me to his bidding. He took great pleasure in demonstrating his control over me.” He stopped. He was wading into uncomfortable waters. “‘Care about me.’ Of all the ignorant stupidity.”

“He raped you.”

“Do not presume to know of my life, Mage!” He shuddered in horror, snippets of ancient, well-hidden memories flitting in his mind. “You know nothing....”

“But, I do. It’s written all over you. I don’t know what slavery is like, it’s true. And, you’re right, I make light of what scares me. But, I know what I see in you.” Anders’ face held no mocking, no pity, only regret. “I’m sorry I brought up painful history.”

Fenris whirled and slammed his fist into the cage bars. Pain bloomed through his hand. “Fasta vaas!”

Anders approached, reaching for the injured limb. Fenris jerked away, but the mage continued to reach out. “Just let me look at it. If it’s broken, I can at least wrap it.”

The elf reluctantly allowed him to assess his hand. His touch was remarkably gentle. Fenris felt some of his anger ebbing. He didn't care what the abomination thought he saw. He was unworthy of Fenris' concern.

“You’re going to bruise, but it’s not fractured.” Anders shook his head. “It’s strange, not having Justice in my head. I can think clearly. I can tell my own thoughts from his.”

“You're trying to tell me your thoughts are any different from the demon's?”

Anders sighed. “He’s not a demon. And, yes. I feel.... less angry. More me.”

After what felt like several hours, they heard the voices of the two men left to keep watch. They seemed to be approaching, and also seemed to be drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may take some non-canonical liberties with things like suppression collars, and whether they would affect Fenris' lyrium-enhanced abilities. May... OK, I did. But, it won't be anything huge and scary.


	2. Assault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders endures a terrible attack.
> 
> Fenris comes to a decision.

Both mage and elf took defensive stances, though both felt unbearably vulnerable with no powers nor weapons. As the guards neared the cage, their voices took on mocking tones, making kissing sounds, whistles, catcalls.

“Little magie, we’ve come for some fun!” “I like me a tall, skinny blonde... man or woman.”

“Let’s take the pretty elf, too... we don’t have to mark him up.”

“Don’t wanna risk it. We’ll have us plenty of fun with the mage.”

Fenris and Anders exchanged anxious glances. Both readied to fight... barehanded or not, this was not a time to go quietly.

The guards opened the cage, and pulled their swords. “Come on, then, mage... let’s go,” one said, gesturing with his blade. When neither prisoner moved, the guard advanced, and Fenris moved between the guard and Anders. However he felt about the abomination, he would not willingly give anyone into the hands of a rapist.

“Oooh, got yourself a guard-dog, eh? Ain’t that sweet.” The guard lunged, and Fenris moved swiftly--even lacking lyrium’s power and a weapon, he was agile and strong. The guard found himself in a headlock, as Fenris’ free hand strained to reach the blade.

Anders grabbed at the sword, and a heavy boot kicked him to the ground, as a pommel came down hard on Fenris’ skull. The elf crumpled to the floor. The room spun around him, he couldn’t tell up from down; his limbs refused to function.

Fenris' ears filled with the whooshing of his own heartbeat, muffling the sounds around him. Voices, Anders’ familiar mocking tones, the guards’ louder voices. There were clangs, thuds, a heavy thump on the floor. The noises moved away, but still carried into his addled brain. He heard shouts, and laughter, and Anders again--still mocking. Then, came a cry of pain. The distinctive sounds of a flog slicing into flesh pushed the elf into motion. Fenris struggled to right himself, managed to roll onto all fours. 

His vision blurred, he made out the cavern around him. It was empty, save for the mage’s clothing lying in a heap. Anders’ pained cries came from the neighboring chamber. Fenris twitched with each snap of the flog. In the hands of a drunk... he knew the agony. The sounds of flogging continued, the resulting cries of pain grew weaker. At last it stopped.

Then, Anders’ pained voice... still mocking. Was he trying to get himself killed? The guards laughed, and there were more thumps and thuds. More quiet.

Then... a tearing, agonized scream, drawn and lasting until Fenris slapped his hands over his ears. His brain unwillingly supplied the pictures of what he couldn’t see. His own past surged through his mind. The guards were laughing, taunting, as Anders’ voice continued to be wrenched painfully from him. Each time the elf was sure it was over, it continued. Fenris felt it lasted an eternity.

Then, it was quiet, again. He heard Anders... weeping, raw voice pleading. The men were laughing, taunting. Anders replied meekly, his voice weak. 

Suddenly, the guards dragged Anders back into the chamber. 

“You just stand back and stay still, knife ears. Another move like before, and we stick ‘im.” Fenris moved to the back of the cage. Anders was thrown inside, landing heavily.

The guards laughed as they slammed the door and stumbled up the corridor. 

The mage lay face-down on the floor, covered in blood and filth. Fenris knelt beside him. “Mage?” His hand hovered over him, but the dozens of bloody lash-marks on his back stayed his touch. He was striped with welts and open wounds from shoulders to thighs. Anders' body was covered with blood and the guards' leavings. Using the water, Fenris carefully rinsed sand from the wounds. 

Rolling him on his side, Fenris saw that his face was equally bloody. His swollen lips were cut, and bruises around his eyes were already purpled and swelling. Carefully cleaning the mage's face, Fenris clenched his jaw in impotent anger. Anders finally roused.

“Fenris?” he asked with a raw voice.

“I am here.”

“They didn’t come for you?”

“No...” He helped Anders to sit up, and pulled the mage’s tunic over his head. “This will help keep your wounds clean,” he said quietly. 

“They wanted to. They were going to come for you....” 

Fenris held the water skin to Anders’ mouth, to help him drink. Anders tried to sip, then struggled against him. “I’m gonna be sick....” the mage turned and vomited. A large quantity of foul liquid sprayed through the cage bars. He retched until he dry-heaved.

There was a disturbingly familiar, ammonia-smell to the fluid Anders brought up. When the mage turned back, Fenris held the water skin for him to drink. Anders rinsed his mouth and spit, then managed to keep some water down. He leaned gingerly against the bars of the cage, his breathing tight with pain. His swollen, bruised eyes closed.

Fenris remembered the mocking tones Anders’ voice had carried. “You goaded them... on purpose. You kept their attention focused on you. So they would not come for me,” Fenris spoke the realization with disbelief. “Mage... you would have fared better...."

Anders opened his eyes again, shaking his head. “How could I not?” The healer asked. “Is your pain less important than mine?

“You are a fool,” he whispered, his voice lacking conviction.

There was a humorless laugh. “What’s new? It worked. That’s all that matters.”

“But, at what cost?”

“Nothing more than I was willing to pay.” 

He managed to guide Anders into the rest of his clothing. The mage was weak, painful, but able to help with the task. 

Fenris was in turmoil over Anders’ actions. He'd spurred the guards into harsher treatment of himself, that they'd forget the elf in the cage. He had never heard of such a sacrifice, certainly none had ever been made for him. He would not have expected it of the mage he had so bedeviled. Would Fenris have done the same in his place? 

“Mage, what you did.... this is not the sort of act that can be thanked. I would never have asked it, and I can never repay it.”

Anders was fidgeting weakly, trying to sit in the least painful way. Sad, honey-brown eyes looked into Fenris’ green. “Well, if you get a chance, ripping out their hearts would be a good start.”

“It would be my everlasting pleasure,” Fenris ground out. 

Anders tried to pull his hair out from under the suppression collar. It was encrusted with dried blood, and he was hindered by shaking hands. 

Fenris reached out to help, running his fingers under the suppression collar. As both of his hands wrapped behind Anders’ neck, the elf's bracelets contacted the collar simultaneously... and all three devices clicked open.

The two men stared at each other in shock. Then, they hurriedly divested themselves of the things. Anders stared at the collar in his hands. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” his raw voice whispered.

Fenris stared at the cuffs in horror. “All this time... you need not have....” 

Anders interrupted him. “Can you flare your lyrium?” He tried, but got nothing. “It can take a bit before suppression collars’ effects wear off.”

“Your magic? Justice?”

Anders shook his head. “Neither, yet.” He was shivering where he sat.

“Mage, lie down. You need to rest. The way they stumbled up the corridor, they won’t be back for some time.”

Anders lay down on his side, using the elf’s thigh for a pillow. Fenris’ first impulse was to push him away, or snap at Anders’ presumption. Instead, he simply let the mage find a comfortable position. As Anders wrapped his arms around himself, Fenris could see the bruised lacerations about the mage’s wrists. He’d been cruelly restrained. 

Anders dozed fitfully, curled in on himself. Fenris sat, watching him. He saw the brutal injuries he’d suffered. Knew the pain of those injuries hidden within. He was dumbfounded by Anders’ actions. The mage had known what was coming, yet he’d brought it on himself, anyway. Considering the way Fenris had always treated Anders, the elf had no reason to expect his protection. Yet, if he thought about it... it wasn't so surprising an act for the mage to make

Anders spent all his free time, all his scant funds, helping those in need. He put himself at considerable risk of discovery to run his clinic. Risked the templars in order to treat the poor and outcast of Kirkwall. Even Fenris himself, when injured in battle, received the same immediate and considerate treatment as the rest of the group. 

The warrior didn’t like the feeling that was forming in his chest. Guilt. Shame. He hated the demon inside the mage... detested what Anders had chosen to do, allowing it inside himself. When the demon overtook him, Anders had done dangerous things, as one would expect from an abomination.

But, the mage, himself, minus the demon. Did he hate Anders? He was a mage, which alone meant one thing to Fenris; the power to do unspeakable things. Yet, had Anders ever done unspeakable things? Today, cut-off from his magic and the demon, Anders was just a man. A man with his own thoughts and motivations. A man who had offered himself for torture in order to protect Fenris. No one, ever, had done such a thing for him. 

Fenris sighed. He knew, if he was to be a man of honor, that Anders should have his everlasting gratitude. Fenris was not a man who made promises he could not keep, nor swore devotion that would not last. The mage needed protection. From the demon inside him, from templars. And, Fenris knew, from the trauma Anders would suffer, after this attack. Abomination or not, Anders would have Fenris’ devotion; Fenris would protect him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't a fun, nor easy, chapter to write. Anders' assault was brutal. The forced urophagia? Yeah, horrifying, and not so uncommon as I'd like to believe. Fenris... is he a man of honor? I think so. Even if he hates Anders, I believe he would do a lot of soul-searching after being a witness to Anders' pain. Especially having experienced it at the hand of Danarius. And, Anders... of course he would do nearly anything to prevent such a thing from happening to most anybody.


	3. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris brings Anders home.

As he sat absorbing his realizations and decisions, his lyrium lines flickered. He tried to activate them, and felt a brief flare. Anders stirred. “I felt something...did you just activate your lyrium?”

“Barely. How is your mana?”

“If I felt your lyrium, then it’s returning, but it’s low. Justice is still gone.”

“We're on our way,” Fenris said hopefully. 

“Wake me when we get there,” said Anders weakly, closing his eyes again.

Fenris, alone again with his thoughts, tried to imagine how his oath was going to play-out. He didn’t imagine the mage would be thrilled to have his long-time antagonist suddenly playing nursemaid, or sleeping on his doorstep. Not that he would actually sleep on his doorstep. How could he convince the mage of his sincerity to help him?

For that matter, how would he continue to convince himself? When Anders began to harp on about mage rights, or Justice reared his demon-head... how would he manage to keep from killing the man?

An uncomfortable thought skittered at the edge of his mind. 

Something most free men didn’t understand about slavery, was why slaves don’t just run away. Why, even under the worst abuses, did slaves continue to serve their masters? The frightening truth is that there comes a point when the entire focus of a slave’s life becomes his master. Every thought, every hope, every action revolves around their master’s needs and desires. Many slaves detest their master. Fenris had hated Danarius with hot fury, but it had changed nothing. Fenris served him, fawned for his approval, performed his every duty without hesitation. A master becomes a slave’s reason for existence. 

Fenris had no intention of becoming Anders’ slave, nor even his servant. But, Fenris could make Anders his focus. He didn’t have to like what Anders did or said, but he could still assure his well-being. Fenris nodded to himself. It might be difficult, at first, but he only need think of what the mage had done for him, today. If Anders could sacrifice for the elf, then Fenris could do the same for the mage. He was satisfied with his plan. 

Shortly after he finished his planning, Fenris was startled by a very bright flare of his lyrium. Anders grunted and sat up, stiffly. 

“I really felt that,” the mage said. He held up his hand, and a blue ball of energy appeared and flickered out. “I’m too weak to generate mana. Can you phase and get through the cage?”

“I can.” He was quickly through the bars and gathered their belongings. He passed them through the bars, and watched as Anders downed a health potion and lyrium. 

“That helps, but I still need time.”

Fenris was strapping on his armor and great sword. “I am going for the key,” he said, and was gone down the corridor. 

In short order, Fenris jogged backed to the cage with bloody hands. He raised them, and Anders saw a heart in each fist. Anders gave a grim smile, which Fenris returned. He threw the grisly offerings aside, and produced the key, unlocking the door. 

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but please tell me they were awake when you took their hearts.”

“Yes. I had to kick them awake, first, but... they felt it,” he said firmly.

“Good.”

When they stepped out of the cave opening, it was dusk. Anders stopped and looked at the faint pink and orange that remained on the horizon. A few bright stars had flickered on in the darkening sky. “How is it that the world just keeps on going, keeps its beauty, when--” his voice broke off suddenly. 

Fenris spoke. “When so much pain exists upon it?” Anders nodded, mutely. “I have asked that question countless times. I have never found an answer.” He felt a hand, trembling, slide into his. He glanced warily at the man beside him. Anders’ face was twitching, obviously warring with his emotions. He understood the battle between pain desperately trying to express itself, and self-control desperately trying to quell it. He knew that Anders was on his way to a breakdown. He needed to get him somewhere safe before that happened.

Uncomfortable as he was with the contact, he allowed Anders to keep hold of his hand, and led him along the sandy path toward Kirkwall. They hadn’t gone far when voices called to them. Whirling about with weapons drawn, they saw familiar figures jogging toward them. They relaxed, and put away their weapons. Fenris felt Anders’ hand easing into his, again.

Hawke was smiling broadly. “Where the hell have you two been?”

“Looking for you,” Fenris answered. “We ran into some trouble.”

“Found the slavers?”

“We did. Six of them, total. We took out two, and the other four will be back in a day or so. Show me your map.” He pointed out the location of the caverns. “You take them. I need to get Anders back. He took some injuries.”

Hawke’s surprise was evident. His gaze drifted downward, and took in their clasped hands. “If you really think you need to....” His gaze lifted to Anders’ bruised face; the split lips, and wide, nervous eyes.

Fenris’ expression challenged Hawke to say anything. He replied only, “I do.” He turned, pulled Anders beside him, and led him down the path.

“Thank you,” the mage said quietly.

“No thanks are needed.”’

\-----------------------

Fenris led the battered mage through town to his borrowed mansion. Anders, beginning to stagger a bit, didn’t argue. He allowed the elf to lead him into the house, up the stairs, and into a bathing chamber.

“You probably want a bath,” he said, helping the mage sit on the washing stool. He knew, from experience, the mage's need to get the feeling of hands, sticky leavings, the smells, off of him. 

Anders slumped tiredly on the seat. Fenris took care of getting warm water, soap, towels and clothing together. Anders was too weak to manage on his own, so Fenris awkwardly helped him. He was slightly hindered by Anders, himself. As he sat passively, being bathed, his fingers had found their way to the hem of the elf’s tunic. Fenris let the hands stay as he washed the mage, knowing he was reaching for a safe connection. Once Anders was dry, he dressed the mage in a pair of his own sleep clothes, the only thing the elf had that would fit the mage. 

After Fenris had also bathed and put on some sleep clothes, Anders’ hands again found and clutched at the elf’s shirttail. Fenris avoided physical contact as a rule. If Anders was going to continue reaching for him this way, the elf would have to overcome his aversion to touch. He sighed, and resigned himself to the mage’s familiarity. 

Sitting on the stool as Fenris combed thick tangles from the mage’s hair, Anders broke his silence with a hollow voice. “Why are you doing this?” 

“After what you did for me... you need to ask?”

“You hate me. Today was a battle, like any other we’ve fought. I protected you, the same as I would in any other battle. Why is this different?”

Fenris thought how to best answer the question. He pulled Anders upright, supporting him as he staggered on weak legs, and led him to the bedroom. He put the mage, unprotesting, in his bed, and pulled the covers over his shoulders. Anders’ hands were still clenched in his tunic, with no sign of letting go. He wavered between forcibly removing his hands, or just getting in the bed beside him. Remembering his promise, he let the hands remain, and climbed in beside Anders. 

“What you did today... what happened to you... was far more than any battle. It went much deeper, and was much more personal. I intend to help you.”

Anders eyes began to fill, his lips quivered. Fenris didn’t know how to comfort people, having never been comforted, himself. Fortunately, Anders made his need known. Pulling the elf to him by his tunic, Anders tucked his head against Fenris’ chest and trembled. Feeling teeth-clenchingly uncomfortable, reminding himself of the discomfort Anders had put himself through on his behalf, Fenris wrapped his arms around the mage. It seemed to be the right thing; Anders wept. Fenris held him, letting the mage cry himself into an exhausted sleep. Fenris followed him, shortly after.

\-----------------------

When Fenris woke, he was startled by the body next to his in the bed. The events of the previous day ran through his mind, then. Anders, honey-colored hair obscuring his face, was in the same shirt-clenching position he’d fallen asleep in. Between his mana drain and physical exhaustion, he had slept solidly.

Fenris wasn’t sure where to go from here. Should he wake the mage? How would the morning progress? Did he have any food in the house, to offer? Anders stirred from sleep, answering his first question. Taking a deep breath, the mage opened his eyes. He took in the room, and then turned toward the elf. His look of confusion might have been comical, on another day. Fenris waited for the memory of yesterday to fill the mage’s mind. And... then it did.

“Maker!” Anders gasped, and sat up. He grunted with discomfort when his injuries protested the movement. His hands covered his face as though to hide from the reality. “Maker, preserve me... it really happened.” His voice was rough. “Andraste’s mercy, I thought it was a nightmare.”

“You are safe now. You're in my home.”

Anders kept his face buried. 

“Mage... can you heal yourself?”

“What? Oh.” His entire body lit up and was awash in a blue wave of healing. 

Fenris took advantage of his detachment from Anders’ grip, and got up to rekindle the fire. “Are you hungry?” He turned to look at the mage.

Anders still sat where he’d left him. His eyes were unfocused, hands twisting into the sheet.

“Mage. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

Fenris brought him a cup of water. “Drink.” Anders took the cup and automatically drank. He lurched suddenly, and ran for the chamber pot. He vomited violently, little more than bile. When he was able to stop, and sit down, Fenris gave him the cup, again. “Rinse...then try a few small sips.”

With another sudden lurch, Anders stood and began to gather his gear.

“What are you doing?”

“Going home.”

“I believe it would be best to stay here.”

“I have work to do.”

“You will not be able to do it, today. Probably not for a while.”

Anders’ face suddenly twisted with anger. “Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

Fenris shook his head. “I'm not telling you what to do, Mage. I am predicting what you will be able to do.”

“And, what makes you... I don’t need... I don’t....” his voice hiccuped, and his breath came in pants. Anders eyes looked into his with bewildered distress. The mage took the few halting steps toward the elf. His hands reached for the elf’s tunic, as his body swayed into Fenris’ chest. Fenris held him, again, and let the storm unleash. 

This outlet was more violent than last night’s. Anders’ sobs were powerfully wrenching. The mage’s arms wrapped about the elf with surprising strength. Fenris, uncomfortable with the embrace, uncomfortable with the emotions, stayed with the mage’s outpouring of pain. He knew the feelings, all too well.

Suddenly, Anders was surrounded by blue-white light, and Fenris knew he was holding an armful of Justice. 

“WHAT HARM HAS BEFALLEN ANDERS?” came the booming voice. Fenris’ lyrium lit in reaction. It took all he had not so shove the mage away from him, to get distance from the demon. He controlled the impulse. He would do what he needed, for Anders.

“He was badly assaulted. He is grieving and in pain,” he answered as calmly as he could.

“WHY? HE IS NO LONGER INJURED.”

“Because, demon, some battles cause emotional injuries. They take longer to heal.”

“HIS BODY IS WHOLE. HE SHOULD RETURN TO HIS RIGHTFUL DUTIES.”

“He cannot, damn it. I warn you now, demon; If you try to force him to act on your behalf, you could harm him irreparably. He was taken against his will by brutal men. Coercing him to do anything, right now, could undo his soul. And, so help me, if you do that, I will end you, demon. I am telling you, for his sake, find a quiet corner of his brain, and leave him alone.”

Justice didn’t answer. After a few seconds, the light suddenly snuffed out.

When Justice disappeared, Anders' strength gave out. He nearly sank to the floor, but Fenris scooped the mage into his arms, and carried him back to the bed. He deposited him on the sheets, and tried to gently pry the mage’s fingers from his tunic.

“Don’t go,” Anders’ rough voice entreated.

Fenris hesitated. He’d just spent the entire night in bed with the mage. He sighed. He could do this. “Alright... I will stay with you.” He arranged himself around the mage, again, as he had last night. “I am not going to leave, Mage. You can trust that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Anders... trying so hard to just move past it on autopilot. Poor Fenris... having no clue how to comfort, having never been comforted, himself. Justice... sigh. I loved him in Awakenings. In DA2, he was such a dick.


	4. Early Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helping Anders isn't easy for Fenris.

Fenris kept Anders with him for weeks. He didn’t know how many, and he didn’t care. He fully intended to keep his oath, whether or not the mage knew about it. He devoted his time fully to Anders, doing everything he could to help with his recovery. And, it wasn’t easy. At times, it was downright miserable.

Anders was a mess. His moods were erratic. He cried, with great, piteous wails, the sound of which never failed to remind him of just why he was staying with the mage. He kept erratic sleep and wake schedules. He sometimes slept all but a few hours of the day, other times he couldn’t sleep at all. Anders had latched onto the elf as a source of safety and comfort. His hands buried themselves into whatever Fenris was wearing, and didn’t let go. So, whatever the mage did, sleep or wake, the elf did it, too. 

Fenris did not forsake him. When Anders slept for nearly solid days, Fenris lay with him. He lay awake for hours as the mage slept, keeping his promise not to leave his side. On the flip-side of the coin, the elf also spent long nights in exhaustion, as Anders tossed and turned, or had nightmares. In desperation, he rubbed the mage’s back, stroked his hair, read aloud to him... anything to put Anders, and himself, to sleep for just a few hours.

Anders, normally so voluble as to drive the elf to distraction, was now silent. Unless Fenris pushed the mage for a reply, Anders didn't speak. For the elf, it spoke eloquently of the trauma the mage was undergoing inside of himself. Fenris thought of all the times that he had wished that the mage would just shut up. He never thought he’d wish so strongly for him to speak.

Fenris felt tried, at times. He was sincere in his devotion to help, and protect, the mage. It was draining. The elf's motto had become What Anders Needs, Anders Gets. But, such close contact for extended periods was difficult for the private elf. Anders was like a burr, stuck to his side. He held onto Fenris’ clothing or hand almost without break. Bathing and dressing became a couple’s event. Anders didn’t seem to care if he washed, or not, but Fenris insisted on it. They were living and sleeping in extreme proximity, after all. Fenris did put his foot down where toileting was concerned. He simply refused to allow Anders to come with him when he relieved himself. Anders would wait, fidgeting and anxious, wherever the elf told him to, until Fenris was finished.

Most of the time, the mage would perform the tasks of dressing and bathing. Occasionally, Fenris needed to cue him. He grudgingly continued to brush the tangled hair of the mage, as Anders gave it only half an effort. It was the same for eating. Anders’ appetite was non-existent. Fenris spent a fair amount of time and energy just getting food into the mage. He nagged, cajoled, put it into Anders’ hand, once even tried to put it into his mouth for him. In a rare display of temper and speech, Anders chucked the food at the wall with a burst of inventive profanity. Biting back laughter, Fenris felt a surge of pride at Anders' moxie. 

Finally, Fenris reached a point of restless agitation. He looked out the curtained window on a bright, clear day, and decided that a walk around Hightown would be good for both of them. He hoped it might spur Anders to take an interest in life outside the mansion.

Anders didn’t resist when Fenris told him that they were going to take a walk. He dressed in his robes, as the elf instructed. Fenris put his armor on, and felt the mage’s hand grip his belt as soon as it was around his waist. 

They both stepped into the sunlight like moles, blinking and shading their eyes. Anders’ hair hung in his face. Fenris’ grooming didn’t extend to hairstyling. As it was, it was probably a benefit for Anders, blocking his eyes from both sunlight and the gaze of strangers.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked. Anders didn’t answer. “Fine. The market it is.”

He was pleased with how well it went. Outside of practically standing in the elf’s pocket, Anders seemed to be at relative ease. A baker’s stall had fruit pies, their scent wafting over the crowd. Seeing the mage crane his neck to look for the source, Fenris found them, and purchased two. He found a quiet area with little traffic, and gave one to the mage. With no encouragement, Anders ate all of his with gusto. When he eyed what remained of the elf’s, Fenris handed it over, and the mage finished that one, too. 

“Well, as I live and breathe! Are Anders and Fenris sharing?” Hawke’s voice carried over to them, and they turned. Anders squinted uncertainly at the man approaching them, but didn’t seem unduly alarmed. “Where have you two been? Just how badly was Anders injured, anyway? He hasn’t been to his clinic since the Wounded Coast.”

Fenris sighed. “Anders has been recovering in my home. I have been helping him.”

Hawke’s face was oddly impassive. “Really. Is that right, Anders?” The mage stared at Hawke owlishly from under his tousled hair. His mouth opened slightly, as though to answer, and Fenris felt himself waiting hopefully for Anders’ reply. None came.

“Uh-huh. Fenris, how about you tell me what went down on the Wounded Coast. Anders won’t speak on his own behalf, you won’t let him leave your side. I don’t like the look or feel of it.”

Fenris felt anger rising in his chest. “Fasta vass! Just what are you implying, Hawke? And, do choose your words carefully,” he grated out.

“I’d rather discuss this with Anders, if you don’t mind,” he said, reaching out to take the mage's arm. Anders' eyes widened impossibly huge, and he stepped away from Hawke’s hand. He moved behind the elf, both hands gripping his shoulders. Fenris felt him hide his face against the back of his head.

Feeling incredibly smothered, Fenris nonetheless put a hand over one of Anders’, reassuringly. “He does not want you touching him, and he has not felt like talking.”

Hawke leaned close, eyes narrowed. “Well, he doesn’t seem to mind you touching him, does he? Even stranger, you don’t seem to mind, either.” Hawke’s sneer was decidedly disgusted. “Please, Fenris. Your hatred of Anders is legendary. You expect me to believe this is purely altruistic on your part? The mage you hate was mysteriously injured, and you’re nursing him back to health?” Hawke’s voice lowered. “Tell me, Fenris... did you find some potion or magical item in those caverns? Is he enthralled to you? Are you acting out revenge on all magisters, through Anders? Tell me just what the hell you did to him....”

Fenris glared, ready to strike his friend down for his unbelievably foul implications. He felt the mage behind him trembling hard, and knew this was not the time. He took Anders’ hand, turned his back on Hawke, and lead the mage back to his mansion. He could hear Hawke following, the man was no rogue, after all. He didn’t care. He could deal with Hawke when Anders was safe.

When he walked through the door, he turned to the mage. “I need to talk to Hawke. I want you to go upstairs to wait. I won't be long.”

Anders was shaking, trying to lean against Fenris. His voice whispered urgently. “No. This is about me. But....”

Fenris saw Hawke had arrived, and was leaning in the doorway. He dismissed Hawke from his concern. This was the first time Anders had spoken in nearly a month, and Fenris was going to listen. “What is it, Mage?”

“I don’t want him to know.” The whisper was pleading. Fenris understood. 

“No, that's your story. I'll leave out the details. Alright?”

Anders nodded, wrapped his arms about the elf’s ribs, and buried his face against his neck. Fenris sighed. The mage was going to suffocate him with all this... embracing. It was also terrible timing for a cuddle. Hawke suspected that he held the mage in thrall as revenge against the Tevinter magisters, and Anders wanted a snuggle. He could feel the man shaking, feel the rapid breath against his neck. Anders was terrified. Damning Hawke for his part in this, he wrapped his arms around the mage to ease his fears.

He leveled a glare at Hawke over Anders’ shoulder. “I warn you Hawke, make another crude accusation regarding my intentions, and I'll take out your tongue. Can you not see how upset this has made him?”

Hawke walked in and shut the door. “I don’t know exactly what I am seeing. The mage you despise is clinging to you like a lover? The man who normally talks non-stop won’t speak except to you? Explain it to me. What am I seeing?”

“He preferred to keep this private, but I will not abide your foul inferences. What you see is a man who was tortured by slavers when he resisted their capture. Who kept them from inflicting the same treatment upon me, by goading them on. Whom I swore to help overcome, and protect.” 

Anders flinched several times during the statement, arms tightening about the elf’s ribs. Fenris rubbed his back to soothe him. “I have you... you're safe.”

The anger and accusation left Hawke’s eyes, but he was still eyeing him, uncertainly. “Yes... it could look like that. I’d still rather hear it from Anders.”

Fenris sighed. “Frankly, Hawke, so would I. He rarely speaks, anymore.” 

Anders cleared his throat, suddenly. His voice was shaky, and muffled as he spoke into the elf’s neck. “Everything he said is true. Fenris has been good to me.”

Hawke’s eyebrows went up, and his hackles went down. “Well... from the horse’s mouth, I suppose. Look... I was worried. If you both think that you might want... I don’t know, company... conversation... whatever... send a message. You do have friends, you know.”

Fenris let his annoyance bleed out and nodded, still soothing the mage. “Thank you, Hawke. We'll see how he does.”

When Hawke exited and closed the door behind him, Anders’ resolve melted, and he slid to the floor, dragging the elf with him. Fenris kept hold of him, rocking the man gently as Anders tucked his head under the elf’s chin. “You did well, Mage,” he said quietly. “I know that was hard for you.”

Anders’ voice was soft. “You shouldn’t be accused of the things he said. It was disgusting. He pissed me off.”

Fenris was surprised. “Did he? On my account?” He felt a measure of pride for the mage’s courage. “You did very well, Mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've worked with psychological trauma patients, and added some research, that gave me some of Anders' reactions and behaviors. It made me sad to write my favorite mage into such a despondent, frightened being. I kind of enjoyed imagining Fenris, though. I can just see him, eyes huge, thinking, "WTF??" as he's consistently pulled into hugs and cuddles. Hawke... not really being a dick, here. He'd have to wonder what the hell was going on. Even he can see how OOC they both are, right now. ;-)


	5. There's A World Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris starts to reintroduce Anders to the world.

Anders began to talk, a little, after that. He didn’t chatter like he used to, nor initiate many conversations. Fenris began to think of the mage in his mind as Quiet Anders. His volubility was limited to answering questions, and occasionally remarking on a passage Fenris read aloud. Reading was something the elf had learned he truly enjoyed. Hawke had taught him the rudiments, and he’d been working on it himself for years. Sitting with the mage, reading aloud, was a pleasurable activity for both men. As Anders talked so little, he was an excellent audience. 

Anders still slept more than Fenris wanted to, but was typically able to sleep without the elf plastered against him. Fenris breathed his biggest sigh of relief for his recovery on that point. Having slept in a mandatory cuddle for weeks, he delighted in the bit of freedom he now gained. If the mage rolled away from him in his sleep, Fenris could now stretch out, or even slip from the bed. He usually stayed in the room, in case Anders had nightmares, but he could at least move about for a few hours without the mage’s breath on his neck.

He also picked-up his sword again. It had been his habit to practice with his weapon each morning. Doing so with a full-grown mage attached to his hip was impractical, so he’d given it up. Now, as long as Anders could see him, Fenris could run through his routine. Again, this new Quiet Anders was a good audience. He watched the elf patiently, in no rush to go anywhere, or to do something else. Fenris hadn’t tried another outing after the fiasco with Hawke, and Anders was content to remain in hiding.

After many more weeks of this, Fenris decided he needed to go shopping. He’d arranged for food delivery after bringing the mage to his home. But, there were other things he wanted, that he preferred to choose, himself. He also wanted to get Anders some clothing. He had one set of clothes and his borrowed sleep clothes. Going by the clinic to get some things might stimulate the mage to think about returning to his healing practice.

Anders was interested in getting out, and dressed willingly. Once they stepped out the door, Fenris felt the mage’s hand slide into his, and and they set off. Anders shrugged as Fenris held up clothing options. It wasn’t until Fenris suggested he pick a new book for the elf to read aloud that he became an active participant. He chose a book of poetry, looking so pleased, that Fenris withheld his eyeroll and simply purchased it. After all, What Anders Needs....

When he told Anders they were heading to his clinic, the mage’s eyes grew round as saucers behind the curtains of his hair. “I don’t want to leave.” He held Fenris' hand in a death grip . “Please don’t make me go.”

“Loosen your grip, Mage,” he pulled his hand free, put one on the mage’s cheek to look into his frightened eyes. “Listen to me; I will not leave you there. I want you to pick up some of your belongings to bring back to my place. Understand? I am not making you leave.”

“You’ll let me stay with you?”

“Mage, you already do. You're like a permanent fixture. Now, come with me to your clinic.”

Anders nodded, and Fenris was sure he caught the barest edge of a smile on his face. 

They began the long trek through town and down hundreds of stairs to reach Darktown. They were both a bit winded by the unaccustomed exertion. When they entered Darktown, Anders tried to hop in his pocket, again, nervous of the shadows and lurking figures. Fortunately, few people ever caused trouble with Fenris when he was in armor and packing his blade. He strode through with purpose, holding Anders’ hand to keep him from getting underfoot. 

The clinic was dark, and looked unmolested. Varric still had “friends” watching the place. Anders had the key in his pocket, and opened the door. “Make you feel like getting back to work?” Fenris asked, mildly. 

“No. I can barely take care of myself, let alone Darktown.” The mage wandered through the rooms. He picked up a few items; his journal, his pillow, the few changes of clothing that he owned. When Anders made no move to take them, Fenris grabbed his potions box and the few books he had on his desk. “I’m done, here,” the mage said. 

“Alright. We have not had lunch. Shall we find a pub, and have a bite?”

“Not the Hanged Man.”

“Not the Hanged Man.”

Lunch was simple and quiet. A small pub, which catered more to family than to drunkards, met their needs more than adequately. Anders’ appetite had been slowly returning. Fenris still had to remind the mage, but he would eat. The exercise seemed to stimulate his appetite even more, and he ate with vigor. Fenris unobtrusively placed bits of his own meal on the mage’s plate, until Anders noticed and put it back on the elf's.  
Trouble, which he’d known would come, didn’t start until they left the pub. Crossing through Lowtown to the stairway home, they heard their names called. Hawke, Varric, Isabella and Aveline crossed the market to meet them. Anders didn’t cower, or try to hide his face, the elf was pleased to note, but his grip on Fenris’ hand grew crushing.

“Good to see you out and about!” Hawke called. The rest of the group called greetings, as well. “Up for some action, yet? We’re just heading into Darktown to--” Hawke was cut-off by an arrow narrowly missing his face. Suddenly, the market was beset with carta, and all hell broke loose. 

Fenris pulled his sword, but with Anders’ death grip on one hand, he couldn’t make good use of it. He dragged Anders into an alcove as the merchants and customers all scattered or took cover. He crowded the mage behind him, and kept his sword at the ready, in case he needed to defend them. 

Anders was pushing him, trying to get past. “Venhedis! Stay back, Mage, it will be done in moments!” 

Anders ripped his hand from Fenris’ and shoved him hard, saying, “Bloody move!” Pulling his staff off of his back in a practiced move, Anders waded into the thick. His staff was twirling, slamming, firing. 

Fenris was stunned for a moment. The fact that Anders had engaged in the fight was shock enough. Watching him perform... Fenris realized that he’d never actually seen him in action. The mages in the group tended to stay to the rear, while he was in melee at the front. Anders moved with the grace of a dancer, spinning, dodging, casting, healing. He was a sight to behold.

By the time Fenris thought to join the battle, it was over. Isabela joyfully rifled the pockets of the dead, while Anders healed Hawke’s minor wound. The elf hung-up his un-blooded blade, and walked toward his group of friends. Anders pushed his hair off of his face, looking for him with nervous eyes now the fight was over. Fenris felt pride welling up in his chest. Anders had been amazing. Simply astonishing. When the heat went up, he had hit the ground running. 

Feeling pride and relief at the mage’s actions, a small smile plucked at the corners of his mouth. He needed Anders to know how well he had done. Fenris took long strides over to the mage and met him in a huge bear hug.

“Anders, you were astounding!” He pressed a hard kiss against the mage’s cheek, in the same manner as Hawke so often did with any of the crew. He felt Anders’ arms return the tight embrace. “I am proud of you.” Anders wasn’t letting go, so Fenris let him hold on, rocking him slightly as they stood. His eyes then wandered to the people around them.

Hawke smirked, obviously pleased with Anders performance. Varric’s mouth hung open. Aveline looked gobsmacked, shaking her head in confusion. Isabela cackled, “I knew it!”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled out of the embrace, and let Anders take his hand. Now that the deed was done, the mage looked decidedly ashen. He needed rest, and a less stimulating environment. 

Hawke lifted a hand to slap Anders on the shoulder, but Fenris held up a hand and shook his head. The hand slapped Fenris’ shoulder, instead. “Good work,” Hawke said, simply. 

Fenris nodded at the group as a whole, and led Anders toward the stairs to Hightown. He was delighted with the afternoon. Delighted with Anders. Delighted with Hawke’s discretion. 

Once in the mansion, Anders beelined it for the bedroom. He stripped out of his clothing, and too tired to put on pajamas, crawled under the covers in his small clothes. He was asleep immediately. 

Fenris watched him sleep for a while, thoughts wandering. Anders was certainly showing improvement. The elf doubted he would ever return to his former self, but he was recovering, healing. He could still have a normal life. Well, as normal as Justice would allow.

He didn’t know what he felt about that. Happiness for Anders, certainly. Which... was odd. He wasn’t given to altruistic emotion. But, he did want Anders healthy and happy. That was his goal, wasn’t it? He had sworn to take care of him, protect him. Perhaps the mage’s happiness was extraneous to that. Regardless, he wanted him happy. He also wanted Anders here, with him. Once Hadriana and Danarius had been slain, he had felt a bit at loose ends. He had no mission, no focus. Now, he felt purpose in his life, looking after the mage. If Anders decided to leave the mansion, it was his choice, and Fenris would continue to watch over him, somehow. It was a moot point, regardless. Anders was clearly not ready to move on. 

He felt tired. The day and the confusing emotions had taken their toll. He stripped off his gear and crawled in bed beside the sleeping mage. As he stretched out, Anders rolled over, wrapping an arm and a leg over the elf. Fenris filled with pride in the man's actions, today. With a deep sigh, he fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, instinct carries you far. Such as seeing friends in mortal danger. Was that kiss OOC? I think Fenris is just grabbing onto any cues he can, to support Anders with limited knowledge of encouragement. Mimicking Hawke's bold affection for his buddies seems a logical step. Anders misses his kitty... and Fenris has never been pet, before. Being petted feels nice.


	6. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris begins to discover feelings foreign to him.

The mansion was quiet; save for the deep, dulcet voice reading poetry aloud. The upstairs bedroom where the men spent most of their time was uncharacteristically bright. The window curtain was pulled aside, flooding the room in sunlight. Fenris sat in a faded wingback chair, reading from the book in his lap. Anders sat on the floor beside the elf’s feet, darning a sock, listening to Fenris as he read.

Every few pages, Fenris came across a word he was unsure of. Leaning forward, he pointed out the word to the mage. Anders pronounced and defined it. Fenris would sit back, practice the word a few times, and continue reading. This was a common scene in the mansion, lately.

During times when Fenris wasn’t reading, Anders was more talkative. Not like before the attack, but certainly an improvement. In the weeks following the mage’s impromptu participation on battle, Fenris had learned a new Anders. The mage was calm, relaxed, soothing. The elf was consistently surprised by how non-confrontational he was. There were no rants about templars and mages, no angry dissertations and accusations. He discussed topics calmly, sometimes humorously. When the mage laughed, Fenris would feel himself smile. Anything that made Anders happy, well... it pretty much made Fenris happy. 

Justice was still conspicuously absent. Fenris asked about the spirit, and Anders said that he sensed its presence, but that the spirit was quiet. Anders didn’t seem to have feelings about that, either way, but Fenris was very pleased.

Although more confident, Anders still wanted to be near the elf, often in his space. But his need for direct touch had lessened. He’d begun making excursions through the corridors and empty rooms of the mansion. On bad days, which Anders still had, or when outside the safety of the mansion, the mage’s hand still found its way into the elf’s. Oddly, the elf found himself missing the mage's constant touch. He’d grown accustomed to his proximity. Enough that, several times, the elf had actually initiated contact on his own.

The first time it happened, there was no particular catalyst. Anders had had several good days, and was sitting on the bed, reading through some arcane text or another for long hours. Fenris had finished his reading for the time being, and sat in the chair with the book in his lap, watching Anders. A variety of twitches and expressions crossed the mage's face as he read. Not really knowing why, Fenris set his book aside, and moved to sit beside Anders on the bed. Leaning back against the headboard, he slid his hand into the one resting beside him. Anders squeezed the elf’s hand, and continued to read. 

Now, the mage sat contentedly next to the elf, and pulled the final stitches through his sock. Setting it aside, he moved in front of Fenris’ bare feet. He picked one up, rested it in his lap, and dug his thumbs into the sole. Fenris stopped reading, and looked at him curiously. 

“What are you doing, Mage?”

Anders smiled up at him through the hair hanging loose about his face, continuing to move his fingers against his foot. “Massaging your feet.”

“My feet are filthy,” he countered drolly.

Anders laughed lightly. “Sometimes. But, we just bathed a few hours ago.” Although thickly calloused, his feet felt the deep rubbing and prodding. It felt very good. The elf closed his eyes, and rested his head on the back of the chair. “Feel nice?” The mage asked.

“Very nice,” he admitted with a sigh.

Paying both feet equal attention, Anders found points of tension and pleasure that Fenris had no idea could exist in his travel-worn soles. When the mage finished with both feet, he picked them up, and kissed the insole of each one.

“Mage... slaves kiss their masters’ feet. Don't do that to me.”

“You kiss me all the time. I’m just showing you affection.”

“I do not kiss you all the time. I kiss you some of the time.” Fenris squirmed uncomfortably. The mage had brought up something Fenris had trouble reconciling. After he had spontaneously pressed a congratulatory kiss to Anders’ cheek in Lowtown, it... became a habit. He didn’t know why, and thinking about it made him edgy. 

A few mornings after the Lowtown fight, he lay in bed, reading. He was waiting for Anders to wake before they began their day. The mage rolled over, nuzzling into his shoulder. With his eyes still on the page, he turned his face slightly, and pressed a kiss into the mage’s hair. It took him a beat to realize what he’d done, and he was flummoxed. Then, it just kept happening. A kiss to his forehead when Anders maneuvered for a hug. A press of the lips to the mage’s shoulder when he snuggled against the elf at night. Unplanned and unexpected, for both of them. It stopped surprising him, eventually. He told himself it was because Anders responded favorably to the expression. It was true... the mage responded well to affection. Small kisses, embraces, touches; Anders soaked them all in, they eased his anxieties. Fenris wouldn’t admit that he enjoyed it, too. He told himself, if Anders needed it, then Anders got it.

The mage burst out laughing. “That you kiss me at all is newsworthy. You deserve affection, too, Fenris. You give me so much of it.” His face grew serious. “I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me. I don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t....” His voice thickened with emotion, and he stopped. 

Fenris slid down from the chair seat to sit on the floor in front of the mage. With a hand on the back of Anders’ neck, he pulled the golden head forward and pressed their foreheads together. The mage’s tears were streaking down his face. “I swore that day that I would help you through this. That I would keep you safe. You keep forgetting that we would have shared the same fate had you not offered yourself to those... those...” he couldn’t think of a word bad enough.

Anders could. “Rapists.”

Fenris ran his fingers into Anders’ hair, held his head in his hands. “Yes. Rapists. They would have abused me, as well. Don't thank me for what I have done as thanks to you. You deserve so much more than I can give.” 

What had been meant as a soothing talk had obviously backfired. Anders began weeping in earnest.

“I am sorry... have I hurt you?” 

Anders shook his head, and continued to cry, hands finding their old place buried in the elf’s tunic. They had been here, many times, before. Anders would be fine--happy even--and tears would suddenly claim him. Fenris let him cry himself out, rubbing the mage’s back as the storm blew over. “Tell me,” he encouraged quietly.

The mage shrugged. For a moment, Fenris worried that he’d taken a step back into not talking. Finally, Anders spoke. “Your friendship is the last thing I ever expected. If this is the result of that day... Maker... the price I paid in that cave was worth it.” Fenris felt a chill creep down his spine.

“Alright... we need to talk about what you just said. But, this floor is hard. Mind if we lie down on the bed?”

They got on the bed, and stretched out. Anders’ hands buried themselves in the elf’s tunic, again. 

“I need you to hear me, Mage; nothing is worth the price you paid in that cave. Nothing. It should never have happened. And, while your action that day was the catalyst to my vow to help you, it is not the reason that I....” He paused, not prepared for where his own words were taking him. But, could he deny it? 

“... that is not why I care about you, Anders.” He felt horribly exposed, naked.

“I am ashamed that it took such a sacrifice on your part to make me see... you. To see the man beyond the magic and the demon. You're a gentle, caring man that gives of his time and talent to help others. Who shares the little he has with those less fortunate.” He sighed. “I care, Anders... not because of what you suffered. I care about you because of the man that you are.”

Fenris was squirming inside when he finished. He didn’t feel these kinds of things. He certainly didn’t express them. When had this gone from duty to affection? When did this happen?

Anders was pensive for a long time, thoughts drawn inward. The mage looked up at him finally. His hands let go of the elf’s tunic, and came up to cradle his face. Then, Anders astonished Fenris by capturing his lips in a warm, gentle kiss. 

The kiss wasn’t long, just a few seconds, but there was an eternity when Fenris felt the sensation of it all. Warm lips moved purposefully over his own; soft stubble tickled his chin; Anders’ nose gently nudged against his. 

Then, the kiss ended. The mage ghosted his lips briefly over Fenris’ one more time, and pulled away. 

Anders quirked a sad, little smile at him. “You called me ‘Anders’.” He ran his fingers down the elf’s face and sat up. “I need to think on some things.”

The elf didn’t move as Anders left the room to wander the mansion corridors. He was in a small degree of shock. Anders had kissed him. Not a peck on the cheek, or forehead... a full kiss on the mouth. 

Fenris had never been kissed, before. He’d been used, fucked, humiliated... but no one ever kissed him. He couldn’t get over the strangeness of it. Anders had kissed him. He supposed he should be upset. Angry. Offended. But, he wasn’t. 

It was his first kiss. And, he had liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh... three fictional characters who I'd love to have read aloud to me: Severus Snape, Jean Luc Picard, and Fenris. Anders, to me, is a very tactile creature (duh, very apparent by the last few chapters). A kiss, to him, wouldn't necessarily have sexual connotations. It could easily be an expression of gratitude or affection. Fenris--learning to enjoy physical connections within the safety of his perceived role. Plus...he kissed a mage and he liked it. ;-)


	7. Touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris grow closer.

It was over an hour before Anders made his way back from wherever he’d gone to think. Fenris had eventually shaken off his surprise. He wanted to get himself pulled together. Between realizing he cared for Anders, admitting it aloud, and receiving his first kiss... he felt blown out like a pile of fall leaves. He took his blade to the ballroom, doffed his tunic, and went about his exercises. It helped to steady his mind.

He let his mind run through the events of the day. Allowing his thoughts to flow freely while he focused on his form and worked up a sweat often brought internal conflicts and confusion to a clear state. By the time he’d moved into some of the more advanced exercises, he was feeling more at home with all that had transpired. 

He liked Anders. He felt affection for him. He enjoyed touching him, and being touched by him. He liked the kiss he’d received. He liked having him here, in his home. He hadn’t anticipated any of this when he brought the mage through his door so many months ago. But, somehow, Anders was under his skin. 

He could fight it, deny it, push the mage away. Or, he could let himself explore it. He could let himself give freely of the affection he was beginning to feel. He could give in to the good things that Anders brought to the mansion; laughter, conversation, friendship, even kisses. Perhaps he should let himself feel those good things, for the first time in his life. 

Had he fought so hard for his freedom just to continue alone and unwanted? Perhaps, while Anders was here, he could discover some of the joys of freedom. 

His mind now at ease, he saw that Anders had taken a seat on one of the stairways. He watched the elf unobtrusively, elbows on his knees, and chin in his hands. 

Fenris continued through his exercises, pulling his mind back into focus. When he eventually came to a stop, the mage was still sitting and watching. Fenris climbed the stairs and sat beside him. 

“You’re incredibly graceful... in a very lethal sort of way.”

“I... thank you?”

Anders had cocked his head to the side, and was following the lines of lyrium as they travelled down his torso and arms. “You said, once, that they hurt. Do they still?”

“Not unless I activate them for battle. Unleashing that sort of power through them is painful.”

Anders reached out and drew a finger along a line running down his back. The lyrium tingled. “That feels pleasant,” Fenris said.

“Why do you think they don’t hurt anymore? Because Danarius is dead?”

Fenris shrugged. “Possibly. He had a number of spells and passive magic attached to them. Perhaps when he died, the power left those.”

The furrowed brow came back. “What kind of spells?”

“Well... besides giving me certain abilities, the lyrium could be drawn upon to augment his power. That was very painful. He also used the markings for discipline--he could cause pain to run through them. He was able to key them to prevent my falling asleep, either for guarding purposes or punishment. That sort of thing.”

When he glanced at Anders, horror was plainly etched in the mage’s face. 

“It was long ago, Anders. It was terrible, yes, but, it's done, now.” 

Anders continued to look horrified. Fenris needed to chase away that look and those thoughts. He leaned over and kissed the mage’s ear, loudly. Anders jumped with an undignified squeal, and rubbed his ear. “That tickled. And, was loud.” Fenris did it again, with the same reaction. “Cut it out, Elf.” A third time, louder and wetter than others. “GAHH! What is the matter with you?” Despite his protestations, Anders started to laugh as he rubbed his ear.

“Just trying to cheer you up,” he confessed, standing up. “Did you think about the things on your mind?” He asked as he made his way to the bathroom. Anders followed.

“Yes. Two things, mostly.” He sat on one of the two bathing stools in the room, talking while Fenris stripped-down and bathed the sweat from his skin. “Whatever you said to Justice, that day, he’s been absent from my thoughts. I can think clearly, I’m not angry like I used to be.” He sighed. “I don’t like who I am with Justice.”

Fenris paused in soaping his body. He didn’t like the Justice/Anders combination, either, but didn’t think the mage needed to hear that, right now. “I understood you were working on a potion to separate the two of you.”

Anders looked down. “I was... but, it’s not... it won’t work. Separating he and I, short of death, is nigh on impossible. But, I was thinking about how quiescent he is. I’m going to look for a way to... neutralize him. To make him like he is now, permanently. He will be free when I die, anyway. I just need to keep him quiet for about twenty years.”

Fenris was sluicing water from a bucket over his head. “Twenty years? Putting a pretty tight limit on your lifespan, are you not?”

Anders shrugged. “I’m a Grey Warden. That’s what we get... 30 years, more or less, and then the blight takes us. It’s been ten since my Joining.”

Like Anders on the stairs, horror filled the elf. He stared at the man in front of him, and felt ill. Twenty years... he should be able to look forward to at least twice that. 

Anders looked confused. “Fenris? What... you knew that, didn’t you?” 

Fenris wiped the water out of his face, slicking his hair back out of his eyes. “No. I did not know that.” He grabbed the towel and attacked his body furiously. He felt... he didn’t really know what he felt. His heart hurt. He felt sick. He felt angry. He threw the towel down and strode from the room. Finding a clean pair of leggings and pulling them on, he flopped into his reading chair and put his head in his hands. Why was he so angry? He could feel water dripping from his wet hair. Twenty years left... ending with the blight sickness. Anders deserved better than that. “Fasta vass!”

Gentle hands brushed the dripping strands from his face. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

He looked up into Anders’ sad face. Worried the mage thought he was angry with him, he said, “You did nothing to upset me. I am upset by a great injustice done to you.”

Anders chuckled. “Funny, you talking to me about justice.”

“I find nothing funny about it.”

Anders squatted in front of him. “Well, I’m not exactly thrilled with it, either. Believe me when I say, it was the lessor of two evils.”

Fenris shrugged, defeated. “I suppose there is nothing to be done, regardless.”

The mage shook his head. “No. It is what it is.”

When Fenris stood, Anders stood with him. The elf bowed his head and leaned it into Anders’ chest. Fenris heard the soft voice of the mage next to his ear. “Really... don’t be upset. I’ve long since come to terms with it. It’s new to you, but nothing has changed.”

Fenris nodded, and the mage chuckled. 

“You’re dripping down my collar.” 

Fenris huffed. Suddenly, his ear was smothered by a very wet, very loud kiss. “Gahh!” He rubbed his ear, but as soon as he lowered his hand, it happened again. “Anders!” He shoved his ear against the mage’s shoulder to protect it. Another wet, squelching kiss hit his exposed ear. “Oh, that is really just irritating!” He used both hands to rub his ears and protect them from further assaults. He could hear Anders’ laughter, muffled by his hands. He felt laughter bubble up in his chest, and joined him in his mirth. It felt good. 

Anders gaped at him. “Oh my gracious... I’ve never heard you laugh, before. It’s adorable.”

“I am not adorable.”

“Says you.”

“Festis bei umo canavarum....” he grumbled, began rummaging for a shirt. “Alright, alright. What do you intend to do with your plan for Justice?”

Anders smiled brightly at him, eyes full of mischief from antagonizing the elf. “Research, letter-writing, the usual. Calming a spirit may prove easier than banishing one.”

“And, the other thing you thought about?”

“I want to get to know our friends again, while Justice is absent.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I think that is a fine plan. It is up to you, of course, but I think a couple at a time might be best.”

“I was thinking that too. I thought I’d leave that to you, if you don’t mind? You probably have a less... influenced... impression of them than I.”

He nodded. “I can do that.”

\-----------------------

The first social event was very low-key, and at the mansion, itself. Fenris re-instituted his weekly Diamondback game with Donnic. So it wouldn’t be too much pressure on the guardsman, he also asked Varric. He made a point to ask both men to steer clear of two topics: anything to do with templars and mages; and the slavers that Hawke’s crew had taken down after Fenris and Anders escaped their clutches.

It went well. Donnic, always a mellow personality, was a soothing choice. Varric, as always, kept the chatter entertaining. He also caught Fenris and Anders up on the gossip they’d missed in the months they had been secluded. 

Fenris made sure he was seated next to Anders, but the mage didn’t get anxious enough to need to hold his hand or clothing. He avoided physical contact with the others. Before, he would have slapped shoulders and grabbed wrists, same as the rest. He was friendly, but greeted them from a distance, or kept Fenris between he and the guests. 

Fenris watched him closely, and was pleased that Anders seemed to enjoy himself. He was rather quiet, listening with interest more than joining the talk. His card game was terrible... but, that was nothing new. Anders--open, honest, direct--had no guile. His tells shouted across the table. 

Fenris enjoyed the evening, but was relieved when the men left. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed his time alone with Anders. 

Anders was talking as he picked up the empty bottles on the table. “Whether or not my mind is muddled with Justice, Varric is just as full of shit. But, in a good way.”

Fenris chuckled. “Some things just translate.”

“Thank you for this, Fenris. It felt good.”

“It did. It was a good start.”

The game had gone late into the night, and they were both tired. Summer had begun in earnest in the past few weeks, making the mansion warmer. They each wore just their smalls to bed, and a sheet to cover. The window was open, with a light breeze cooling the room. Fenris lay in the dark, pleasantly tired, but sleep didn’t claim him. He was thinking of the night, going over Anders’ comments and expressions during the game. He felt proud of how well the mage was doing. Proud of his progress, and proud to be his friend. These kinds of thoughts were getting easier for him to accept.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand reaching to rest on his chest. Anders reached out for contact frequently in his sleep. Fenris automatically covered the hand with his own. The hand moved, obviously not asleep, drawing a finger down the central lyrium line on his breastbone. The lyrium tingled pleasantly, and glowed softly in the dark. 

“Wow,” came a whispered response. “It glows in the dark.” The finger continued tracing the lines of his chest. The glow waxed and waned as he moved his hand, and the tingle with it. 

Fenris hummed in approval. “Amusing yourself?” The tingling was really very nice, and was spreading across his chest as Anders traced more lines.

“I know you hate these markings, Fenris... but, this is really beautiful.” His finger reached up to his chin, and continued its gentle tracing. The tingle from those lines flowed across his lips, more intense than on his body. He grunted at the sensation.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It felt good... it makes my lips tingle.”

Anders’ finger traced the second line, producing the same effect, and the same grunt. “You like that?” 

“Yes. I do. Do more, please.”

Anders moved closer and leaned up on one elbow. Starting with the lines just behind his ears, the mage traced the lyrium as it ran down his neck and along his torso. He followed the curves and whorls the lines formed; when he came to their end, or when they disappeared behind Fenris, or into his smalls, he reversed his path and followed them back up. He methodically moved across his body, watching the glow that began to light up the bed as more lyrium became stimulated. 

Fenris was in bliss. The tingling seemed to build on itself as the lyrium flowed along his body, and into other lines. Lying with his eyes closed, he was humming in appreciation, content to allow Anders to explore as he was. It was fascinating to have the markings feel good, instead of cause pain.

“Fenris, you’re beautiful. Do you know that?”

“I have never thought so.”

“You are. It’s not just the pretty lyrium light-show. You are a very handsome man. Why is it you have never spoken of anyone special? It’s been a long time since you left Tevinter. Has there been no one?”

He chuckled. “However attractive I may, or may not be, I am still an escaped slave. I have trust issues and am... prickly. I have lyrium imbedded all over my body, which most people do not enjoy as much as you. I am not exactly a ‘good catch’, Anders.” He shrugged in the dark. “I have also not been interested.”

“Have you ever had someone important? Were you allowed to have intimacies?”

“No, our masters were to be our only interest in life.”

He heard Anders sigh. “So, besides your abuse, which doesn’t count at all, you’ve never had sex?”

“That is true.” He paused. “You were my first kiss, Anders.”

“I... I was? I didn’t realize.... Did it bother you?”

He sighed contentedly. The mage had continued his exploration of the lyrium lines while they talked, and his whole body was in a frisson of bliss. “I liked it. Very much.”

“Good,” the mage whispered. Anders’ hand left the line he was tracing, and moved to cup his cheek, turning his face toward him. Fenris felt Anders’ lips softly touch his. 

The reaction was spectacular. Already in a state of heightened sensation, he felt the kiss clear down to his toes. He moaned, his body electrified by the contact. Anders’ kiss grew, his lips moving against Fenris’ skillfully, delicately. Fenris hardly knew what to do, he only knew he didn’t want it to stop. His mouth began to copy the movements of the mage’s, and he heard Anders moan, as well. 

Rolling into the mage’s body, chest to chest, Fenris ran his hands along the man’s form. He felt Anders’ tongue carefully taste his lips, and he parted them, eager for any new sensation the mage was ready to give him. Heat was rising within him, the taste and feel of Anders’ mouth on his left him gasping.

Anders pulled away gently. He ran his hands soothingly into the elf’s hair. “I need to slow down... sorry.” He pressed soft kisses along the elf’s neck and throat. “Are you alright?”

Fenris nodded. “That... that was... Anders, that was....”

Anders laughed. “Good?” Fenris just moaned, giving up on finding the right word. “I know what you mean. I don’t want to push either of us too fast. But, Maker, Fenris....”

“Yes.”

Both men rolled onto their backs, breath slowing, Fenris’ lyrium fading. Fenris was in a tumult. What was that? Did Anders just want to give him a good experience? Did he want to have sex? What did the mage want? What did he, Fenris, want? He wanted to be touched and kissed by Anders. 

“Anders.”

“Yes?”

“What is it that you want?”

“You mean... with kissing and touching?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. I just... wanted to kiss you. I want to be close to you. I want to give you pleasure. I want to talk to you, and listen to you, and play Diamondback with you. I don’t know what I want... but I know that you make me extraordinarily happy, Fenris.”

“Oh.”

“Why?... What do you want?”

“I... want to kiss you and touch you. I want all the things you said. I don't want to hurt you. You are still healing. Your body may want what your mind won't be willing to accept.”

“I know. I don’t know what’s in my own head, half the time. But, I do know that you fill you my mind, all the time.”

Fenris grunted in agreement. “It is entirely mutual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww. Fenris has feels. Deciding that maybe, just maybe, there's more to life than hate. A little Florence Nightingale effect, maybe. But, this is more than just caregiving. It's learning about each other. A little soon for Anders? Not necessarily. It's been about five months, and his history with physical affection means he may find comfort in safe exploration. He's a healer, he knows to pace himself.


	8. Regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders suffers a set-back.
> 
> Fenris experiences old pains.

Being open and honest with one another had always given them good yields. Knowing when Anders needed connection or affection; Anders understanding that Fenris was his new constant... these things, and more, created their friendship.

But, this... knowing... of each other’s desire.... It was nearly unbearable.

Watching Anders as he... well... did anything, really, filled Fenris with desire to reach out, touch, hold, kiss. He wanted. He wasn’t going to act on the want, not unless Anders made the first move. Just because the mage had kissed him, twice, didn’t mean Anders wanted to be pawed at. He didn’t want to risk scaring the mage. But, oh, how Fenris wanted.

Days passed. Days, and nights, in which Fenris felt he would tear his hair out in frustration. The elf wasn’t used to feeling desire. The elf had never engaged in masturbatory activities, in fact. His entire remembered sexual history was based in pain and debasement. He’d never equated sex with pleasure. Even now, although he felt definite arousal, the desire he had for Anders extended only to holding and kissing. Anything beyond that blurred into nebulous need. But, he felt it, acutely. 

Nighttime was worst. Lying beside the mage, hearing him breathe in the dark, feeling his touch when he reached for Fenris... it was sweet, agonizing torture. 

Tonight was no different. It was warm, and no breeze crossed their window to cool them. The sheet was kicked to the foot of the bed, leaving both men bare but for their smalls. Spread-eagle in the hopes of catching the slightest breeze on some part of their skin, neither was sleeping. 

“Fenris.”

“Anders.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask this. There’s no way I won’t sound pathetically cliche’, so I’ll just do it. Why don’t you touch me anymore?”

“I... do I not?”

“Not since we kissed. Are you sorry, now... do you wish we hadn’t?”

He could have laughed. “Hardly. I think about it every minute of the day and night.”

“Really? I’ve been waiting for you to make a move. To be sure that you really want this. But, you seem to want less.”

“Maker, Anders... I want more. I hesitate to ask you for something you may not want. The thought of hurting you....”

Anders was quiet for a moment. “I know the word ‘no’, Fenris.”

The elf sighed. “So, you do. But, would you use it, Anders, if you thought it I would be unhappy?”

“Seriously? That’s just--” the mage stopped. “That’s actually a good point. Damn, elf... how did you get so wise?”

Fenris did laugh, then. He rolled into the mage beside him, uncaring of the heat and sweat of both their bodies. Anders met him halfway, hands greedily sliding along his damp skin. “Mage, all you need is to say ‘No’, and we will stop. I will not be upset if you--”

His lips were silenced by Anders’. 

Minutes, hours, days... how much time passed anytime they kissed, Fenris could never truly be sure. Time seemed to stand still when the mage was enfolded in his arms, mouth skillfully playing over the elf’s. 

It could happen anytime. Accidental touches in the night became purposeful embraces. Half-eaten fruit was tossed aside when their desire changed from the sweet fruit to the sweetness of lips. All day, all throughout the night, their lips met in hungry communion. 

However ardent or frequent their kisses were, the interludes were of short duration. Anders’ inner psyche set their limits, and Fenris was happy to abide by them. Neither sought to venture below their beltlines. Indeed, there was typically a physical distance below their ribs. This bothered Fenris not at all, and Anders made no complaints. They were happy to play within their boundaries.

\------------------------------------

It was nearly six months since Fenris had led Anders to his mansion. The mage was doing very well, yet neither man mentioned the possibility of Anders leaving. Fenris had meant it when he’d said that he considered the mage a permanent fixture. Anders seemed to take him at his word. Certainly, they shared their space comfortably.

That’s not to say that they didn’t discuss Anders’ future. The mage had been researching ways to contain Justice, tirelessly. Through Hawke, he was able to write to Feynriel, the Dreamer Mage apprentice now living in Tevinter. Although the idea of Anders having anything to do with Tevinter mages made him nervous, Fenris had to admit that was the most likely place to get information. 

Anders had also talked of reopening the clinic. He wouldn’t live there, at least not yet. But, he could work there during the day. He didn’t feel ready for that, quite yet, but both men took his interest as a positive sign of health.

Kirkwall was in the grip of a heatwave. The mansion, though shaded and roomy, was stifling. The men sweated through the days and nights, like the rest of the city. On a particularly muggy morning, they decided to to make a trip to the docks. They were hoping for cooler air near the water, and maybe a small change of pace. 

Although it was slightly cooler near the water, the smell of fish and offal was overwhelming in the heat. They decided to head back into town, and made their way past the cargo docks. Suddenly, Anders stopped, his eyes riveted to a group of debarking passengers.

A small group of mages was escorted off of a ship, surrounded by templars. Hands and throats shackled with suppression cuffs and collars, they were tied by the necks into a line. Each of them was filthy from a long voyage in the hold of the ship, their faces despondent. 

A pair of idle dock-workers watched the group approach, and began making cat calls. Crude comments interspersed with kissing noises and whistles carried through the air to the watching mage and elf.

“Hey, little magie! Look like you could use some cheering up!” “Oy, there, ‘ave a look at my magic staff.” 

One look at Anders’ stricken face compelled Fenris into action. He pulled the mage against his side and walked him away as quickly as he could. “Vishante kaffas.” He spoke urgently into Anders’ ear as they moved, “Do not listen. They are simply fool dock-workers. They are not coming for you. You're safe. I'm here, Anders.”

By some miracle, Fenris got them back home. By the time they reached the mansion, Anders’ fingers were clenched around both the elf’s hands, and he nearly hyperventilated. Fenris kept up a litany of reassurances, and bundled him through the front door, closing them in the security of the dark entry.

Fenris turned Anders to face him. “Anders--look at me.... you need to slow your breathing... in and out, with me, come on....” He guided the mage in breathing in sync with him, slowing his breath, calming him.

The mage’s eyes were filled with anguish. Still gripping Fenris’ hands, Anders swayed slightly, and a quiet keen began to emanate from his chest. Fenris pulled him into his arms, hugged him, swaying along with the mage’s motion. “Anders... it's alright. We will make it alright.”

Getting the mage upstairs was no small feat. With much encouragement, Fenris managed to get him to their room, and sat him on the edge of the bed. The keening and rocking continued for long moments, leaving Fenris at a loss. Finally, Anders looked at the elf, recognition in his eyes. “Fenris?” he asked in a small voice.

The elf’s air exploded from his lungs in relief. He ran his hands through the mage’s hair, looking into his eyes. “Yes, Anders, yes. I am right here. Right here.”

The next words from the mage broke his heart. With face crumpling and eyes overflowing, Anders asked quietly, “Do you know what they did to me?” 

Fenris groaned in misery. “They hurt you, Anders, they hurt you terribly.” 

Anders began to weep. “Oh, Maker... the things they did...” he collapsed in on himself, grief rolling from him in agonizing sobs.

Fenris pulled the distraught man into his arms, and maneuvered them both onto the bed. Anders hadn’t cried at all in weeks. Hadn’t cried like this in months. Fenris did what he had always done, and held him. He didn’t know what the men had done to the mage, except in vaguest terms. Anders hadn’t talked about it, and the elf didn’t ask. Fenris had been violated enough in his own life that he didn’t need it spelled-out for him. 

Holding Anders through his tears was physically uncomfortable.It was just so hot in the house. Anders wasn’t wearing his outer robes, thankfully, but his trousers and tunic were soaked with sweat. Fenris was slick with perspiration, still in his armor, with full leather leggings. Hell, his broadsword was still on his back. He knew enough not to try to remove the mage’s clothes, and didn’t know how Anders might react if he were to start shedding his own. 

This episode of weeping was more intense than any others had been. Whatever the event on the docks had dredged-up within the mage, it was holding Anders in an extremis of grief. His sobs were so forceful, his pain so palpable, frankly, Fenris was surprised that Justice hadn’t made an appearance. 

Anders’ tears showed no sign of stopping. His face was tucked into the only part of elf’s throat that was left bared by his tunic. Fenris could feel the heat of his breath on his skin, the hot tears rolling under his neckline. The mage’s face was wet with sweat and tears, making his hair stick to his skin. Fenris gently smoothed the clinging strands away from Anders’ face. The mage’s hand came up, and held Fenris’ hand to his cheek. “Fenris...” the name fell from his lips in stutters as he wept.

“Right here,” he murmured.

“Fenris... they hurt me.”

“I know they did, I know.”

“Oh, Maker... Maker... they wouldn’t stop. There was nothing I could do. Oh, Maker, I’ve never felt so helpless....” his words were wrapped in tears, ragged with his sobs.

“They said they wanted you, too... and I couldn’t let that happen... I couldn’t let you go through it again... but, they just wouldn’t stop.”

Fenris held on, pulling the mage tightly to him. “I know, I know... you were so brave.”

“Oh, Maker, they ripped me open. They tore into me, and I just wanted to die. They pissed down my throat, Fenris. They did, and they made me thank them for it. I fucking thanked them....” He howled with agony. “Maker, why didn’t I just die? I’m never going to be whole, again.”

“Yes, you will. Anders, you will be whole, again, I promise.”

Anders took a ragged breath, and his next words exploded in a wail of agony. “They broke me!” His sobs tore from his chest, their violence rocking Fenris to his core. 

The elf, holding the man he’d grown to care for more than any other, felt ill. Hearing Anders’ pain, hearing the words, the despair... he felt like he was unravelling inside. His mind was sifting through images--some real, some imagined--that were excruciating in their polarity:

Anders, smiling over his cards in a Diamondback game; Anders, being brutalized by the slavers. 

Anders rubbing Fenris feet; Anders, hiding his face from Hawke in Fenris’ hair.

Anders, working his magic over a young boy in the clinic; Anders, being thrown to the floor of the cage, bloodied and ravaged. 

Anders, laughing with him; Anders, sobbing his despair in Fenris’ arms.

Something was fracturing in the elf’s chest. His heart was breaking for Anders. He was filled with rage at what had been done to him. And, more....

Fenris’ own lifetime of pain, so carefully locked away in secret places in his mind, was coming free of its constraints. All his years of abuse, degradation, pain, fear, loss, isolation... he’d hidden it so carefully away. He'd stuck it where he didn’t have to feel it, didn’t have to remember it. But, now... It all came spilling out. 

Caught in the wave of Anders’ pain, and his agony on the mage’s behalf; his carefully built vaults broke open. Fenris began to weep. He felt sobs torn from him in howls of pain. He clutched Anders with painful desperation, and wept. For the pain of the man he held, for the unfairness of both their lives, for the helplessness he felt to do anything about it. A lifetime of pain expunged in bitter tears.

He clawed at Anders, wanting him closer, wanting to hide within him. He could feel the mage crushing himself against him, Fenris’ breastplate bruising them both, each of their chests wracked with sobs. He couldn’t begin to halt his flow of tears, his bawling sorrow, his desperate attempt to merge with the mage. 

In time, he realized that Anders was no longer crying. His chest ached. The upheaval was ending. Hands stroked his sweated hair back from his face. Curling into the man, he buried his face in the mage’s wet shirt. He felt emptied. His chest was loose, light. Physically, he felt ghastly. He was covered in sweat, tears, and snot. Both of their bodies seemed to be completely soaked through. His nose was still running from his tears. He used the only thing handy to clean his face.

A quiet, hoarse voice spoke in his ear. “Did you just use my shirt to wipe your nose?”

He nodded. “Yes, Mage, I did.” Both men laughed. The laughter felt good, it cooled his chest. After it faded away, they lay in quiet connection. His head ached, his chest hurt, his eyes burned, he was hotter than hell and sweating like a horse. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Apparently, Anders couldn’t, either. When fully armored, there wasn’t a lot of Fenris that was safe to cuddle. Yet, Anders was managing it. The mage continued to stroke his hair, pressing kisses against his forehead. 

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked the mage.

“Sort of. I won’t lie, I’m a mess. I’m more concerned for you than myself, right now.” He used a hand under Fenris’ chin to tip his face up to meet his gaze. “What happened?” 

Fenris couldn’t answer. He felt unbearably exposed. It was one thing to be witness to Anders’ tears and pain... it was quite another to bare his own. And, in such an unrestrained manner. Anders’ eyes held only affection. The mage carefully pressed a soft kiss to Fenris’ lips. “You know... I’m here for you, too.” Fenris only nodded, not trusting his traitorous heart to keep tears in check.

Fenris began to untangle his limbs and armor from Anders and the bedding. His pauldrons’ spikes had sheets wrapped around them, and one pillow had punctures in it. “I need to bathe. And, so do you.”

“Should I be offended by that comment?”

“Only if you want to be. I enjoy your scent. You should probably change your shirt, though.”

“Right, some elf used it for a handkerchief.”

Standing in the bathroom, peeling his leather leggings down his legs, Fenris took notice of the large copper tub in the room. The mansion was a rotting hulk, but had once been the height of luxury. The tub was a reflection of that. Big enough for a grown man to stretch out with only his head above water. He had only ever used it for washing clothes. Soaking in a hot tub of water was something nobles did, a luxury he disdained. In this heat, though....

He turned on the spigot over the tub. Water plumbed indoors was a luxury he didn’t disdain. As the tub filled with cold water, he scrubbed himself of the salty sweat and tears. Anders wandered in, already stripped. He looked at the filling tub, then smiled hugely at the elf.

“As I’ve said before, you are very wise.”

Fenris was settling into the cold water as Anders took soap to his own body. It was cold, too, no doubt about it. By the time Anders was dipping a foot over the side of the tub, Fenris was humming with relief. The mansion was hot. The cold water felt like heaven.

“Maker’s ass, this is cold! How did you just get in like that?”

“Hot water was a privilege for free men. I am accustomed to cold water. Just sit down, it will feel good.” Fenris laughed as Anders cupped his balls for protection as he lowered himself into the water. Once the mage had settled himself back against the end of the tub opposite from Fenris, he was sighing happily. The elf asked, “Was I right?”

“Ahhh... you are right. Move your foot.”

After some minor territory disputes, the men relaxed in the cool water. Eyes closed, heads dropped back on the sloping ends of the tub, they reveled in the cool water. It was the most comfortable they had been for a week. The whole city was grouchy with the heat. Fenris idly wondered if the hot weather may have played a small part in opening both their wounds. Possibly, but there was stuff there much deeper than a hot day.

“Anders,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?”

He heard the mage sigh. “No. I’m not. I'm so Maker-damned mad that I was doing so well...and it all come crashing down. It was like it all just happened again, right there on the docks.”

“I know. It will get better.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have been where you are. It took time, but eventually, it got better.”

“What upset you today, Fenris?”

“My life was, bad. I see your pain, Anders, and it is like my pain, all over again. It kills me, that you feel that kind of pain. Seeing you hurting... it just... it tore down my defenses. I felt sick to my stomach. It was like... like I just vomited up my whole life’s worth of pain.” He paused. “And, it was no better coming back up than it had been going down.” 

He felt the water slosh, and then a body sat in the V of his legs, back against his front. He wrapped his arms around the shoulders in front of him. Damp hair tickled his cheek, and he nuzzled into it. 

“Thank you.” Anders’ voice was equally thick, as though his throat was tightening, too. They were quiet, comfortable in their closeness, comfortable in the cool water. Fenris’ fingers made lazy circles through the fine hair on Anders’ chest, while the mage idly ran his fingers along Fenris’ thighs. “I’ve always liked you, you know.” Fenris turned his head toward Anders voice, listening. “Even when you would be such an ass about mages, I liked you.”

“Why?” he murmured.

“I thought we were alike, in many ways. I understood your hate for the magisters. I recognized the anger within you for your treatment, for the institution of slavery. And, I admired your strength. You came from so little, and went so far. You’ve always been so fiercely independent. You made a life for yourself, out of nothing. I admired you.”

“You felt this way, even as every word I uttered to you was dripping with venom?”

“I saw more than your anger, Fenris. I saw your pain. That’s why I knew I couldn’t let those bastards have you. You’d been through enough, you’d fought so hard. When they knocked you out, and started talking about taking you, too... it broke my heart. I figured, I was getting it anyway... I may as well make it count for something. If I could save you, I would.” Fenris pressed his hands to the mage’s heart, embracing him.

“My Anders.... my brave, caring Anders.... I am so sorry for what you went through.” 

“I'm sorry for what you went through, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG... could there BE more angst/hurt/comfort?? Healing has fits, starts and backslides. Triggers can feel like it all just happened. Anders needed to unload his unspeakable truths. Fenris, now that he's intimately involved with Anders, can't avoid the depths of empathy. Empathy can expose out all kinds of deeply guarded pain and trauma. For a man who can't remember, like, half his life, Fenris has a shit-ton of trauma hidden in his soul. In MY head-canon, anyway.


	9. Healing and Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris explore anger and affections.

It was days before Anders began to pull himself back out of the pit he flailed in. He frequently found himself in tears, with little or no provocation. He was again stuck to Fenris like a burr, clutching him like a lifeline, day and night. He hadn’t regressed completely, the elf was grateful to find. He was still communicative, and he was eating. Like in the earliest days, Fenris didn’t leave his side for even a moment. Not that he wanted to. All it took was an image from Anders’ story to flit across the elf’s mind, and he was pulling the mage against him compulsively. 

The heat wave continued, unabated. They stayed in the house, all shades drawn, sweating-out the weather. With Anders in his arms nearly 24/7, clothing became a problem. They were simply hot. Fenris quickly stripped down to his smalls. They weren’t going anywhere, and no one came over, and it provided a modicum of comfort in the heat. Unfortunately, at least initially, Anders wasn’t always aware of his grip on the elf, and his nails were biting into Fenris’ skin. So, Fenris added a sleeveless tunic to his outfit, into which the mage could twist his fingers without bloodying the elf. Anders was fine going shirtless, but when he tried wearing just his smalls, he immediately felt too vulnerable. A dagger and a pair of worn trousers later, he was modeling the latest in short-shorts. The elf privately thought they looked sillier than just running in his small clothes... but Fenris’ motto rolled through his mind, again: “What Anders needs, Anders gets.” Anything to make the mage happy.

The mage wasn’t happy, right now. Anders wept. He wept long and often enough that Fenris began badgering the mage with cups of cold water, for fear he would dehydrate due to tears spent. The tears, painful as they were, held nothing on the anger. For, unlike Fenris had ever before seen, Anders became angry. 

This anger was almost frightening. Accidental magic would flare, electricity or flame surrounding the mage’s fingers, or an aura around his body. If the anger was deep enough, the mage would bellow with rage, shooting flames in long, forceful gouts into the fireplace. The room’s temperature would skyrocket, the flames licking up the chimney with hell’s heat. He set lightning storms crackling in the vaulted ceiling, face drawn in a wrathful grimace. Bolts of electricity flashed in the darkened room, pulsing light into the shadowed recesses of the arched ceilings. 

It scared the hell out of Fenris the first couple of times Anders loosed his fury and anger in that way. He was sure he was going to be forced to bring about Anders’ demise, that Justice would barrel through, and turn Anders into a monstrous, mindless abomination. Yet, Justice never appeared. Not a crack of light in the mage’s skin, his eyes were clear. It was only, and simply, Anders. 

After he got over his fear that Anders was losing control, Fenris learned to stand back, and let it blow over. It always did, the outbursts were intense, but short-lived, the magic receding smoothly. He was impressed with the level of control Anders maintained, even in such a fit of rage. When his anger passed, Anders would slump his shoulders, looking sheepish. When he reached for Fenris’ shirt, or wrapped arms around him, his head tucking into the elf’s neck, Fenris pulled him close. 

During those days of close togetherness, when Anders wasn’t venting nature’s fury, Fenris spent most of his time simply stroking the mage. He had wondered at Anders’ willingness to be touched, since the very beginning. He would have expected the mage to have an aversion to any physical contact, such as Fenris himself had developed so many years ago. Anders, always contrary to the norm, reached out, instead, to the elf who represented safety. He had flinched from Hawke, and he avoided contact with others during outings or card games. But, where the elf was concerned, Anders was soothed by any kind of contact. 

In the hottest parts of the day, they migrated to the bathtub. Fenris wondered why, in nearly a decade in the house, he’d never thought to use the bath to cool off during the summer. Being nearly in each other’s laps all day, the cool bath was Maker-sent. They stroked each other’s skin, both finding comfort in touch. Fenris was mildly fascinated by the mage’s chest hair. It wasn’t particularly thick or expansive, but elves had little hair on their bodies. Anders’ chest hair simply lured the elf’s fingers.  


And, they talked. They talked about the pains of their pasts. Anders talked about punishments he’d received in the Circle for escape attempts. He talked about being taken from his family at 12 to go to Kinloch Hold. He talked about the terror of being a Grey Warden; the nightmares, the sound of darkspawn in his mind when in the Deep Roads.

He also talked about the time in the cage, the rape itself, the nightmares it brought. Fenris was hard-put to listen to Anders when he described his assault. Fury and despair warred within him to think of it. Worst was the sense of impotence he felt. There was nothing he could do. He'd always solved his problems with swordplay or a fist through someone's heart. He’d already done that much to the men in question. But, now, when he felt his anger flame... there was nowhere to vent it. 

During one such conversation, Anders startled Fenris by saying, “You know... it’s alright to get angry.”

Fenris reclined in the tub, his back against Anders’ chest. He idly plucked his fingers through the fine hair on the mage’s legs while Anders talked. “What do you mean?”

Anders scooped cool water into cupped palms, and dribbled it down the elf’s neck and shoulders. “I mean, I know it upsets you to hear about it. Hiding your anger has never really been your strongest suit. You can share it. You can let it out.”

“I am not sure how I can do that, short of killing someone. I don't think you understand the depth of the anger I feel.”

The mage ran his fingers through Fenris’ wet hair, slicking it back, massaging the elf’s scalp. “Do I not?” was his soft reply. “Do you believe I don’t feel the same anger toward Danarius? That images don’t flash unwittingly through my mind of the crimes he wrought against you? What do you think brings on the firestorms and lightning bolts?”

Fenris paused. That was the anger’s focus? His own history prodded Anders into wrathful fury? “I didn't realize. I thought it was about... well, you.”

Anders’ nose was buried into his wet hair, breathing him in. “Mmm. Not always. I get angry about that, sure. But, nothing makes me as blackly, murderously angry as the thought of someone hurting you.” Small wisps of flame coalesced in the air about them.

Fenris tugged the hairs on the mage’s legs, hard. “Fasta vass... back down, Anders. You will boil us alive.”

The magic receded abruptly. “I’m sorry... it’s getting easier to pull back. I know it makes you uncomfortable.” The fingers were again running through his hair, soothing them both.

“Uncomfortable? Anders, it scared the hell out of me, in the beginning. Why is Justice not surfacing when you feel this way?”

He felt Anders shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe there’s nothing concrete for him to focus on. He can’t fight memories, after all.”

\-------------------------

As the heat beat down on the city, Anders began to get his confidence back. He’d had a set-back, but healing was continuing to progress. His moods evened-out, his nightmares lessened. The accidental magic disappeared. He was able to let go of Fenris for most of the day, at least. With his skin out of danger of the mage’s nails, Fenris lost the tunic, and ran about the mansion in just his smalls. Anders actually laughed, and said he looked like a toddler in a nappy. A fearsome, lethal toddler. Fenris, delighted to hear Anders’ laughter, simply gave him a two-fingered salute, and went his comfortable way.

They slowly found their way into their previous routine. Slow pretty much defined everything about their lives. Weeks passed without notice, the time blending into itself. There was nowhere they needed to be, in this heat, and nothing that had to be done. Anders was surprised to learn, when he finally asked about Fenris’ lack of work for Hawke, that Fenris had actually landed himself into a comfortable situation by taking over the mansion. The house itself was a wreck. But, it held multiple pieces of valuable furniture, art and wine collections. Varric sold it off at Fenris behest, and invested the proceeds. Fenris wasn’t wealthy, by any means, but he was very comfortable. The fact that he’d not gone on a paid contract in half a year made no difference to his financial situation. Anders worried, though, about the cost of his upkeep.

“You know, right, that the odds of my being able to pay you back are slim to none.”

Fenris looked up from cleaning his armor. He hadn’t put it on in over a month, it was too damned hot, and they hadn’t left the house in all that time. But, habits die hard. “Anders, you have never once paid me what you owed me from weekly games of Wicked Grace. In almost ten years. Of course I do not expect you to give me money.”

“Yeah... well, I feel bad about it. I’m living off of your good graces. I may have been poor, but I took care of myself.”

“Yes, and half of Darktown, as well. Anders, I am not even taking care of myself. I stole this mansion, and sold the goods within. I am living off of ill-gotten gains.”

Anders grumbled to himself, fidgeting in Fenris’ reading chair. “Well, at least they’re your ill-gotten gains. I don’t even have that. I want to earn my keep.”

Fenris sighed, and got up to go squat in front of the mage. “Anders, any debt you imagine that you owe was paid in full before you walked through my door. And, you have built-up a sizable savings since then.”

“You really don’t think I know that I’m more trouble than I’m worth?”

“I don't think you know your own worth.”

“I nearly burned down your house. I set lightning loose in the galleries.”

“You scoured the chimneys clean, and cleared the cobwebs from the ceilings.”

“I force you stay stuck inside for weeks at a time.”

“You keep me out of trouble.”

“I’ve brought depression and sorrow into your home.”

“You brought laughter into my life.”

“You must rue that you ever met me.”

“Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me.”

Anders smiled softly. “You have an answer for everything.”

The elf mirrored the mage’s smile. “You are my answer to everything.” Saying the words, he felt his heart give a huge, resounding thud.

Anders’ face held an adorable expression of smitten shyness. He leaned forward, and slowly, gently put warm lips to the elf’s. It was a chaste kiss, really, but it left Fenris dizzy. Literally, dizzy. Anders’ kiss shot straight to his groin, and his lungs simply stopped working. When Anders pulled back, his face was no longer shy. Hunger shone in his eyes. 

“Well,” said the mage. "The weather isn’t the only thing that’s hot, anymore.”

Indeed, the weather had a rival in the kisses that again took center stage so frequently in the mansion. Fenris tried so hard to be careful, respectful, of Anders’ feelings when their mouths fused, and his blood sang in response. He wanted to assure the mage was comfortable, felt in control, didn’t feel pressured. But, it was harder, now. He was harder, now. These kisses fueled his body in a way they hadn’t before. They had been passionately pleasurable, before, but the passion had been unfocused. Now, Fenris felt a distinct, focused need. His body, his cock, was surging in a way it never had. 

Anders didn’t complain, didn’t shy away when Fenris felt himself harden, pressing against the mage as they kissed with heated fervor. The elf did his damnedest to hold his hips still, to not grind against Anders as their nearly naked bodies cleaved unto one another. When Anders ran his fingers along the lyrium markings, it was no longer a blissful tingle that ran across his skin. It was biting lust, shooting straight to his groin, bringing heavy panting instead of sweet sighs.

Anders seemed perfectly able to call for a break, when he felt he’d gone as far as he comfortably could. Fenris willingly, happily, backed off the moment the mage requested it. He was left with an uncomfortable ache, a need unfulfilled that flummoxed him. He could feel Anders’ answering arousal when they tried to fuse together during their kisses. If the mage didn’t comment or complain about the discomfort of his unfulfilled passion, then Fenris certainly wasn’t going to.

Fenris resumed his sword exercises, partly to work off this unspent energy. Leaving Anders with a kiss to his sweaty forehead, he would pick up his sword, head to the ballroom, and and lose himself in the exercise. It took a while, but it usually worked. Typically, Anders made a point to be a spectator at each session. Fenris suspected this had more to do with the fact that he was exercising in his small clothes, than any need for company. After Fenris had enough time to get into the rhythm of his forms, the mage would show up on the ballroom steps, and quietly sit to watch him. Often, this was followed by a shared cold bath. If the exercise hadn’t taken care of his problem, the icy water usually did. 

Eventually, the heat wave broke, and cooler weather sent a sigh of relief through the city. The cold water of the bath lost its appeal, but Fenris rewrote his opinion of soaking in warm water. The plumbing only brought cold water indoors, unfortunately. A mage in the house had certain advantages, and heating the tub of water was one of them. Anders mourned the day that Fenris put his pants back on, which made the elf chuckle at the mage’s petulant face.

“Want to go out, this evening?” Fenris asked. He wasn’t really sure how Anders would respond. He seemed to have gotten his feet back under him, but it had been months since they had left the house.

“Maker, yes! Let’s to ahead to the Hanged Man. I want to see how everyone is.”

“As you wish. If you need to leave, just say so.”

Anders smiled. “I know.”

Both wearing their respective armors and weapons--it was a Kirkwall night, after all--they walked through the quiet town. Anders hadn’t reached for his belt or hand to hold. After a few dozen steps, Fenris reached for the mage’s hand. Anders gave him a warm, sideways glance, and squeezed the elf’s hand. “Don’t worry, Fenris. I’ve got you.”

The Hanged Man was busy, as usual. They found Varric, Isabella, Hawke, Avaline and Donnic playing Wicked Grace in Varric’s suite. They were enthusiastically welcomed, and dealt into the game. Anders had no cash, so he and Fenris both played out of the elf’s coin purse. Between Fenris’ winnings, and Anders’ losses, they broke even. 

They were sitting side-by-side at the table, nearly on top of each other, which was their norm in the mansion. As Varric gathered the cards and shuffled for the next hand, Fenris turned to Anders. Their cheeks and chins nearly brushed as they spoke. “You seriously have no control over your facial expressions, do you?” he teased the mage.

“With my good looks and charm, why would I want to hide any beguiling attributes with a straight face?”

“Fair enough, but could you use your beguiling attributes to bluff, rather than reveal your hand?”

“I’m trying to think how that would work, but anything I imagine is unspeakably filthy.” 

“Really? Make a mental note to tell me about those at home.”

From the corner of his eye, Fenris could see the others watching their interaction with rapt fascination. He no longer considered Anders’ and his intimacy to be unusual. It was part of who they were, a natural instinct they shared. He’d forgotten that the rest of the group was still in awe and disbelief.

“Now that you mention it....” the elf leaned in and whispered in Anders’ ear. The mage’s face lit up with mischief, and he nodded conspiratorily.

Varric spoke up. “Look, I’m still not entirely sure you two actually are Blondie and Broody, but I’m just as happy to take your money as theirs. Are you in?”

“I am.” Said Fenris.

“I’m out.” Declared the mage. “Apparently, I’m too expressive for my own good.”

As the game began, Anders started a slow campaign of distraction. At key moments of play, the entire group became focused on him. Anders started simple: brushing his hand through Fenris’ hair, leaning his arm casually on the elf’s shoulder and stroking his ear, an obvious run of his hand up Fenris’ thigh. The group couldn’t concentrate on the game for watching the pair. Fenris had winnings that game.

The next round found the other players watching with rapt disbelief as Anders nuzzled the elf’s ear with his nose, pressed a kiss against the side of his neck, and whispered in his ear while Fenris gave a low laugh that could only be described as filthy. The elf took the pot, again.

Going for broke on a third hand, Anders nearly brought the game to a halt. The mage’s tongue delicately traced Fenris’ ear, his hand moving indecently high along the elf’s thigh, and, finally, stealing an open-mouthed, eager kiss from the very willing Fenris. They rest of the table folded. 

“OK, damn it, enough. We’re all losing money, and Isabela’s about hurt herself,” Varric groused. “Any more of that, and the rest of us are gonna lose our shirts.”

“Oh, please say they’re going to lose their shirts,” Isabela gasped joyfully.

The elf and mage laughed, and gathered their winnings. Anders stood. “This has been lovely, but we really need to get going. I’m in convalescence, you know.”

“Yes, I really should not have kept him out so late,” Fenris deadpanned.

Although the group’s purses were significantly lighter, they were cheerful in their farewells.

The two laughed as they exited the tavern. Fenris was pleased on so many counts. He was happy to have his purse full, again--Anders really was an abysmal player. He was thrilled that Anders felt so good. And, he was more than thrilled with the personal attention he’d garnered from the mage during their little scheme. It had been all he could do to keep playing cards while Anders played his part.

Once through the door of the mansion, Anders pulled Fenris in for a very private, very passionate kiss. It went on... and on. Anders backed the elf against the wall, and continued the kiss, throaty moans muffled by their mouths. Fenris felt the mage’s arousal hard against him, his own answering need, so close to it.

When Anders thrust himself against him, Fenris’ voice broke the kiss. His own hips returned the motion before he could stop himself. “Anders....” he gasped. The mage only continued to move slowly, deliberately, against him. Fenris felt himself drowning in a wave of sensation. This was so good, so new, so overwhelming. He’d never felt anything remotely like this. He may not have known this territory, but his body was following its instincts. He moved against Anders with nearly desperate thrusts. He felt hot, dizzy... alarmed.

“Anders... stop. I need a moment,” he heard his own voice whimper, and cringed.

Anders stopped, panting. “I’m ok, Fenris, don’t worry....”

“No... it's not you.” he was almost choking, trying to reconcile his body’s very insistent desire to continue, with his idiot brain’s need to stop. “This is... this is new.”

Anders was still torturously close to him, their breath sharing space. “I’m not quite up to penetration, Fenris. I’m not asking for that.” 

“No... I... that is not it. I feel overwhelmed. Like I will fly apart. Like I can't breathe.”

Anders gave him a small kiss. “I do too, but that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

Anders pulled back just enough to look in the elf’s eyes. “Are you afraid to climax, Fenris?” His long fingers stroked through the elf’s hair, brushing it away to see his face.

“I... I... is that what I am feeling?” He swallowed, embarrassed. Anders continued to look at him, no judgement on his flushed face. “I have never... I do not know what it feels like.”

“You’ve never had an orgasm?”

“No. Stop staring at me.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. I just... you don’t take yourself in hand? Never?”

“No, I never have. Quit belaboring the point.”

Anders was pulling him close, again. “Oh. My sweet Fenris. You’ve carried such pain, it’s kept you from so much pleasure.”

Fenris could feel the mage, hard against him, again. His arousal had not flagged, either. “I feel pleasure. When we kiss, when you touch the lyrium lines, when you move against me.”

“I know, but... will you trust me? Let me take you beyond even those?”

Fenris didn’t hesitate. “Of course, I trust you.”

Anders pulled away, smiled at him hugely. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.” And, led him upstairs.

Anders’ slow seduction at the card game was nothing compared to what he did to Fenris in the bedroom. The desperate drive in the front hall was gone, now, tempered by desire to bring the elf pleasure he’d never known.

Fenris was adrift in a sea of pure Anders. He was surrounded by him; his voice, his hands, his scent. He felt his armor and clothing slowly disappear from his body. There were kisses, hot and searching, to his mouth. There were fingers, gliding over his face and neck, into his hair. He was being laid-out on the bed, and Anders’ legs were twining with his. He took a breath, and his chest was expanding with Anders. Anders’ body was all heat, sweat, skin... naked against Fenris’ own.

Fenris wanted to touch and taste, hold and stroke, but his body was kept in a hazy cloud, floating under Anders’ ministrations. His lyrium sang, a song spreading to every inch of his body, his ears, toes, belly, cock. Anders’ hair fell around their faces as his lips made love to his mouth. 

When Anders’ hand began a journey down the elf’s belly, and fingers slid around the base of his cock, Fenris sucked air, stealing from the kiss he was sharing with the mage. When those long, healing fingers wrapped around his rigid flesh, the air came back out in a moan so deep and needy, Anders stopped the kiss to speak.

“I know, Fenris, I know. It feels good.” His fingers gripped him, and slid down his length. “It feels better than good.” Fenris’ head was nodding, his mouth open in disbelieving pleasure. “It’s better than anything you’ve ever felt, before,” Anders’ husky whisper was hot against his face. Fenris turned to the source, and accepted the mage’s plundering mouth. 

Fenris was thrusting in time with the mage’s hand. He had one hand buried in the golden hair, the other holding the forearm of the hand wringing such pleasure from him.

He could feel the rising, the sensation that he was going to fly apart. “Anders....” his voice broke. “Is it...”

Anders’ voice whispered against his lips. “It is, Fenris. Let it happen... let it take you....”

And, it did. All of the pleasure, across all of his body, seemed to gather into his groin, a tight, curling agony that exploded in blinding ecstasy. His body flew apart, he felt hot jets shooting from him, his voice a cracking sob of pleasure.

Then... images. Faces, voices, memories. In an instant, he remembered everything. And, then, in an instant, it was gone. He remembered only that he’d forgotten.

His eyes opened to the aftershocks of unspeakable pleasure. Lungs gasped for air, heart tripped over itself, a gentle hand soothing his wilting flesh as the last tremors coursed through him.

And, as his eyes focused, the smiling, adoring face of Anders. Fenris couldn’t speak, could hardly move. He could only stare at the mage, heart pounding so hard that it threatened to crush his ribs. Anders ducked his head slightly, looking into the elf’s eyes.

“How do you feel?” he grinned. “Did you like it?” The mage’s fingers were tracing Fenris’ face in gentle arcs. 

He still couldn’t speak. He gazed into the shining eyes, the warm smile, above him. This face that he now knew better than his own. The smile he longed for. The eyes that spoke to him more honestly and eloquently than any other’s. 

Maker help him. 

“Fenris?” The mage was knocked back with the force of the elf’s embrace. He clung to Anders. He didn’t know how to say what he felt. He didn’t even know what he felt. He could only find one thing to say.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

He felt the chuckle rumble through Anders’ chest. “The pleasure was mine, I assure you,” he replied. “I’m so happy for you.” 

Pressed against the mage, again, Fenris could feel the erection trapped between them. It was like steel, throbbing, a damp spot warming against his skin. “Anders... “ he murmured, pressing his pelvis harder against the mage.

“Fuck, Fenris....” Anders was suddenly through chuckling. The mage reached down and grasped the elf’s ass, pulling him tight against his thrusting member. “I’m so close... nearly spent when you did... Maker, so close....”

Fenris lifted his gaze to the mage’s face. Flushed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as his breath stuttered across Fenris’ face. “I want to see you undone, Anders,” Fenris heard himself say. He thrust with the mage, watching him twitch and gasp. “Take the pleasure you so freely gave.”

Anders strove against him, groans escaping against Fenris’ temple. His hips jerked erratically, his voice whimpered. “Fenris....” Then, he groaned a breathless cry, coating their stomachs with hot bursts. 

Fenris held him close, in awe of the sight he’d just beheld. It was a sight he wanted to see, wanted to cause, thousands of times over.

Anders shivered, face buried in the elf’s hair. His lungs slowed, and he sighed contentedly. Suddenly, he sat up, fists furiously rubbing at his eyes. 

“Damn it!”

Fenris bolted upright in alarm. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, is what it is! I’m happy, just so fucking happy,” he said with a thick voice.

“Anders?”

“I’m so sick of crying all the time! I haven’t felt this good, this happy, in a decade. Seriously, a decade. And, what do I do? I’m crying. Again.”

Fenris snorted with laughter, then tried to bite it back. He couldn’t. He laughed. “Is not crying with happiness supposed to be a good thing?”

Anders stopped scrubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m just tired of leaking out my face all damn day.”

“It will ease.” The elf paused. “That was the single-most incredible experience of my life.”

Anders’ face split in a grin, and he finished wiping his eyes. “I thought it would be.”

“Anders... I remembered things. My life. I remembered everything.... and, then it was gone.”

“What... you mean, when you...?”

“Yes. Do things like that happen to you?”

“Well, no. But, my memories weren’t stolen in an agonizing ritual, either.”

Fenris nodded. “I wonder if it will happen, again. Perhaps, I will be able to remember some of it.”

“Well, I can think of worse experiments to try,” the mage leered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Anders. He's resilient. He bounces back. Of all the characters in the DA world, his story touches me the most. So much crap heaped upon his psyche, over and over. Yet, he stays kind and caring. I love the idea of the boys running about the mansion half naked. I love the idea of Anders losing his freaking cool and unloading with magical force. I love the idea of Fenris being introduced to pleasure by sweet, caring Anders. Well, of course I love all of that... I wrote it.


	10. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is ready to resume more of his life.

Experiment, they did. The memories didn’t stick. Each time, they floated across his mind’s eye, only to disappear again. The disappointment didn’t stop the elf from trying. Fenris was ready and willing, at any given moment. He had discovered the joy his own body could produce, and was driven to explore it. Anders shook his head in awe. He commented that the elf was like an adolescent boy, first learning his way around his dick. Fenris countered that, although fully grown, he, was, in fact, first learning his way around his dick. 

Anders, although ready to reacquaint with sexuality, wasn’t ready to indulge with the frequency that Fenris was. The elf didn’t push him, but he wandered around with a hard-on most of the time. Finally, one day in the warm water of the bathtub, Anders introduced the elf to self-pleasure. With Fenris reclined against his chest, Anders taught the elf to wrap his hand around his perpetual erection. Guiding him, together they brought the elf blessed relief. 

After that, Fenris’ days were filled with self-love. After a week or so, Anders gave him a cream for chapped skin, and suggested he set himself some boundaries. Fenris smirked, but had to admit he was over-indulging. Decadence and gluttony were national pastimes in Tevinter, and he realized he was walking that path. He restrained himself, and found that quality versus quantity was a valid argument.

Although their initial interlude was gloriously successful, it wasn’t always so easy. Some occasions were as free as the first. Other times, Anders, aroused in the heat of the moment, could suddenly panic. Shuffling out of their embrace, he hyperventilated, a memory or sensation filling his mind’s eye. There were times, after calming under the elf’s soothing voice, when he could warm again, and continue the amorous activity. Other times, he was simply done.

\----------------------

Summer was waning, the worst of the heat over, with autumn not yet in evidence. They strolled through the city, making their slow way to the Hanged Man. They were on their way to the weekly Wicked Grace game. After their first time, they had returned each week. Although Fenris refused to sit apart from Anders, the rest of the group had required an oath from the pair to never again use shock-tactics to distract the players. Anders still played badly, but didn’t care. He was enjoying the company of friends, again. He was even able to imbibe a little. Justice was still curiously silent, not interfering in his activities or thoughts. 

When he lost, the group was surprised that he actually fronted the money he owed. After their talk about finances, Fenris had begun secretly stocking the mage’s money purse with coin. Of course Anders knew how the coin got there, but didn’t want to hurt the elf’s feelings by objecting to his generosity. It was a modest amount, after all.

Anders walked beside him, confidently. His head was up, hair trimmed and pulled back from his face, as he’d always worn it. As they walked in the twilight, Anders spoke.

“I’d like to reopen the clinic.”

Fenris smiled inside. He was waiting for this. He knew it would be a sign that Anders was truly coming back to himself. “That's good. When?”

“A week or so? I need to get things in order, restock supplies. But, I don’t want to live there, again.”

“Of course not. You live with me. I'll help you prepare, if you like.”

“I would like.”

“Tomorrow morning. We can start then.”

Fenris worried about one issue. He didn’t like Anders roaming the Darktown and Lowtown streets on his own. The elf would happily escort him to and from the clinic every day, but suspected Anders would object to being babysat. 

He discussed his concern with Hawke, who had made a generous offer. His estate’s cellars had a hidden entrance, just around the corner from the clinic. The front door of the estate was only blocks from Fenris’ mansion. Anders was given the key to the hidden entrance, and would enter and leave Darktown through Hawke’s home.

With that very important problem solved, the two men prepared the ramshackle space for healing, again. There wasn’t a great deal to do, they realized. Dust covered every surface, and vermin had moved in. Both were easily addressed. They fixed a few wobbly legs on tables and cots, but otherwise, the place was ready. The afternoon before he was to reopen, Anders noticed new supplies on the shelves. Bandages, creams, and herbs filled previously empty spaces. He knew that, once again, the elf’s generosity was to blame. Fenris saw Anders take note of the additions and turn to him. The mage said nothing, but, his eyes shone with affection.

\-----------------

“Anders....”

“Mm-hm.”

“I wish to ask you something.” The mage was otherwise occupied with nibbling his way down Fenris’ neck.

“Yes, to anything,” he replied in a pleased whisper.

“I am not sure that you will mean that.”

Anders pulled back, and looked in the elf’s serious eyes. “What is this about?”

“You have had intimacies before... well, before.” 

“Yes.” His hand ran down Fenris’ smooth form. 

“You were with men?”

“Yes... and, women.” He stroked the lyrium lines on the arm he could reach. 

“Stop that, for a moment. I want to know if you had penetrative sex. With men.”

Anders leaned on one elbow. “I did. I both gave and received. Why?”

“Did it hurt?”

“Ah... I see. No... only if we wanted it to.”

“Why would you want it to?”

“There are certain... kinks... that can be fun to explore. I think it’s safe to say that those particular ones are no longer on my menu. But, no... it does not need to hurt. In fact, done right, it's extremely pleasurable.” He leaned forward and gave the elf a brief kiss. “Why are you curious?”

“When Danarius used me, it was painful. Sometimes, so painful I couldn't keep silent, and he would punish me. But... you say it doesn't have to be so.”

The mage lay back, drawing Fenris to him. “It shouldn’t be so. It should be done with care, to give pleasure.”

“It is hard to imagine that it could be pleasurable.”

Anders chuckled, kissing the elf’s forehead. “Believe me when I say, it is.”

Fenris was quiet, thinking. “Will you show me?”

Anders frowned. “Fenris, there’s nothing I would love more than to have you inside of me. I just don’t know if I’m ever going to get there.”

“I would never ask that of you. I want you inside of me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I don't know if I will be able to, either... but, I know I want to try.”

“Why?”

Fenris sighed. “You ask such hard questions, sometimes. How do I say this?” He thought carefully. “Because, when I see you smile, when I hear your voice, when I feel your touch... I want to be closer. I can't hold you tightly enough, or kiss you deeply enough. I want to feel you on me, and around me... and in me.”

Anders was silent. Fenris worried he had pressured him too far and looked into his face. The mage had his hand over his eyes, the muscle of his cheek twitching. “Anders, I apologize. I said too much.”

The mage shook his head and used the concealing hand to wipe his eyes. “No. You said exactly the right amount. The thought of sharing this with you leaves me breathless, Fenris.”

The elf smiled, and pressed against the body next to his. “Then, let us begin.”

The mage put a small kiss on his lips. “Let’s take it slow. If you feel any pain at all, tell me. It would kill me to hurt you.”

“I will.”

“One more thing...I’d like to use a spell to make it easier. It just helps open you, and lubricate you. Are you comfortable with that?”

“I trust you, Anders.”

Fenris felt himself drowning under the mage’s considerable talent. Besides having become incredibly proficient at manipulating his lyrium lines, Anders was simply an accomplished lover. He knew exactly how to turn Fenris into a whimpering mess. He did that, now. The elf lay beneath Anders’ attentive hands and mouth, head tossing, body quivering. He felt the mage’s mouth traveling down his body, down his belly, to his hips. Anders hadn’t yet been comfortable enough to take Fenris in his mouth, but had kissed and licked most of the rest of his body.

He bypassed the elf’s straining erection, and began to lave his sack. His tongue and lips nibbled and sucked on the skin. He moved to the perineum behind his sack and tormented the flesh there. Fenris writhed with the sensation. When Anders lifted the elf’s knees, raising and spreading his thighs, he eagerly complied.

Then the mage’s mouth was at his entrance. Fenris’ eyes widened with surprise, and then slammed shut when Anders’ wicked tongue began to pleasure the puckered flesh. He’d never felt anything like that, before. It was strange, new... yet wonderful. He worried that Anders was doing this out of a sense of obligation... then he heard the mage’s pleasured sigh. He was enjoying doing this for Fenris. The elf let himself be carried away by the sensations. 

He was mildly surprised by a flash of magic, and then felt a curious sense of looseness in his body. He heard Anders’ voice, “I’m going to use my fingers, Fenris. Stop me if you hurt.” And, slowly, he felt himself entered by a gentle finger. It didn’t hurt at all, and it was slippery. He loved it that part of Anders was inside of him. Then, the finger crooked, and brushed something within, and he shouted in delight. He barely had time to wonder what it was, and it was happening again. His whole body writhed with the pleasure. The mage was stroking him inside, with two fingers, now, and he couldn’t keep still.

“Aaaaaaaanders.... what are you doing to me?” His arms flung out, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. Anders was leaning over him, now, sucking on his neck as his fingers continuing his slow onslaught.

The mage was flushed, panting, smiling. “That’s the sweet spot, Fenris.” He raked his gaze over the elf. Fenris was sprawled, writhing, tossing his head. “Maker, you’re glorious,” Anders whispered. “I’ve never wanted you more than I do right now.”

Fenris tried to respond, and failed. He tried again. “Anders... please....”

The mage removed his fingers, and positioned his weeping length at Fenris’ opening. Keeping his gaze locked on the eyes of the elf below him, he eased himself inside. Fenris clutched at him, keening with need. When the mage was seated against his body, fully sheathed, Fenris pulled him into a deep, searching kiss.

Anders’ panting voice was in his ear. “Do you hurt?”

Fenris’ voice was a slow whisper of awe. “Noooo... oh, Anders....”

Anders pulled out slowly, and thrust back in. Fenris moaned. The mage did it again, angling to find the sweet spot. Fenris cried out. Each thrust stroked in him like lightning. He pushed himself onto Anders’ cock, legs wrapped about his waist, pulling him tight against him. His eyes opened, searching for Anders’. The mage was striving above him. His face was burst open in a combination of desire and desperation. When he met Fenris’ gaze, he lowered his forehead against the elf’s. One hand moved to grip the elf’s neglected cock, leaking onto Fenris’ belly. When he stroked him in time with his thrusts, Fenris gave a hoarse shout, “Anders, yes! Don’t stop... don’t stop... don’t stop.”

Anders was shaking with restraint, “Fenris.... oh, love....”

And, Fenris shattered. His voice echoed against the walls, body convulsing. Anders’ rhythm faltered, his movements frantic.“Fenris....” he cried. “Oh, Maker....” He buried his face in the elf’s neck, his voice muffled as he cried out his release.

Fenris floated in post-coital bliss. He could feel Anders on him, around him, in him... it was so much more than he could have imagined. He breathed in, inhaling the scent of the man above him, the scent of sex, the scent of their breaths mingling. 

Anders was stirring. He carefully pulled out of Fenris’ body, and then pulled the elf into his arms. Fenris was limp in his embrace. He whispered in the mage’s ear, “Are you alright?”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect,” came the whispered reply.

Fenris was drifting into sleep, replete. As darkness claimed him, his mind replayed Anders’ voice, calling him ‘love’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders is getting his groove back. Fenris has a new hobby. IMHO, these two men were simply meant to be lovers.


	11. Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A forgotten party reasserts its presence.

The next morning, Fenris watched with mixed feelings as Anders kissed him goodbye, and left the house for the day. He’d offered to come with him, at least for the first day. Anders declined. He felt ready and energized.

The elf tried to remember what he did with his days, before Anders became his world.

He performed his exercises with the sword. He ate a light breakfast. He read. By midmorning, he was at loose ends. He sat in his reading chair and thought of last nights’ bedroom activities. Again, the feeling of repleteness came over him. He thought of the mage’s words, what it meant that he’d called Fenris ‘love’. Did Anders love him? Did he, Fenris, really know what love meant? He certainly hadn’t learned what it meant to be loved during his time in Tevinter.

He decided to go to Darktown, just to see if Anders was doing alright. He took the long way, not willing to tread on Hawke’s hospitality by cruising through his home uninvited.  


Darktown was crowded, dank and foul, as always. Coming up the stairs to the clinic, he could see numbers of people outside, waiting to get in. He pushed through to the doorway, and looked inside. More folk waited within the walls, several lying on the cots. Anders’ back was to him, hands glowing blue with healing magic. Fenris watched as he performed whatever healing needed done, and assisted an old woman to sit up. She was smiling, patting the mage’s cheek with a clawed hand. Anders' face turned slightly toward the elf as he spoke to the woman, smiling in return, eyes gentle as he assisted her off of the cot. 

For just a split second, so fleeting that Fenris nearly doubted he’d seen it, ice-blue light flickered in the mage’s eyes, tiny cracks on his skin... then disappeared. Anders’ head lifted, looking straight into Fenris’ eyes. The mage smiled hugely, eyes warm, and nodded at the elf. Fenris nodded in return, and melted back into the crowd. Anders seemed fine... but, clearly Justice was back. Why now?

Fenris wandered the city, uneasy. Justice had followed the elf’s demand, and had remained hidden as Anders healed. There would be years of recovery, in truth. That he was returning to healing was a significant sign. Fenris had become complacent about the demon. Having Anders, just Anders, in his home and arms was a blessing. But, with the demon... how would this change things? 

He returned to the clinic at dusk. He missed the mage acutely. The crowd had departed, the lantern outside the door was dark. He knocked on the locked door. He heard Anders’ voice, and then the door opened to his nearly manic, smiling face.

“I knew you’d be coming back,” he said, sweeping the elf into his arms, and through the door. Fenris was rendered speechless by a hungry pair of lips over his. “You taste incredible,” Anders muttered against his mouth. He picked the elf up, hands under his ass, and walked him to a cot. He sat him on it, pulling him against his groin. “I’ve wanted you all day,” he moaned, hands beginning to tug at Fenris’ armor.

“Please tell me this cot is clean...” Fenris was pulling at Anders’ pants, loosening laces, shoving down waist bands.

“Mm-hm,” the mage nodded, giving up on the armor and settling on lowering the elf’s leggings, instead. “Fenris... may I?”

“You'd better,” the elf growled.

Anders laid Fenris down, and cast his spell. The elf felt the effects as his leggings were stripped completely off. He expected to feel the mage’s fingers touching him, but instead, Anders’ hard shaft thrust within him. He grunted in surprise. He wanted Anders in return, but wasn’t expecting such haste. 

Anders thrust again, his head back, hips moving with slow, forceful motions. “Fenris... so good....” he breathed. His hand reached under the elf’s tunic, fingers unerringly finding the lyrium lines, stroking them to brilliant light. Fenris writhed with the sensation. Anders' other hand did the same on the elf’s bare hip and thigh. 

“Anders...” he gasped, body arching, legs wrapping around the mage’s hips. Anders was relentless, stroking over the elf’s sweet spot, fingers playing the lyrium lines... Fenris was drawing closer and closer to the edge. With a few harsh tugs to the elf’s leaking shaft, Anders pulled him over, Fenris groaning in relief. Anders thrust in earnest, face intent. Fenris peeled open his eyes to watch his fall. Suddenly, Justice burst through in blazing light, Anders’ eyes no longer his own.

“NO!” Fenris lashed out with arms and legs, squirming to get away from the demon now spending itself inside of him. He drew up his legs and kicked them both into Justice’s chest, propelling him backward, and away from him. He leapt from the cot, pulling his sword. “Demon! Why couldn’t you stay gone?” He shouted, half in anger, half in plea.

Justice staggered, then caught himself.

“I STAYED HIDDEN UNTIL ANDERS HEALED, AS YOU REQUESTED.”

“Why return now, like this?” He felt physically ill at the thought of Justice being part of their coupling. 

“YOU SING OF THE FADE... THE LYRIUM SINGS....”

Fenris filled with rage. He could not kill Justice, as his every instinct cried for him to. Doing so would kill Anders. “Get out of him!” He bellowed, his lyrium flaring blindingly for battle.

Justice suddenly... swooned. It was the only description. It was as though the spirit fainted back inside of the mage. And, then, it was Anders that Fenris held his blade to. Anders, with horrified eyes, dropping to his knees. “Fenris... don’t stop the lyrium... the battle flare knocked him back...”

The elf concentrated on keeping the energy surging through his lines. “Anders, what happened?” 

“He came back... he came back. Shortly after you stopped by, he came back, and I couldn’t keep a straight thought in my head. All I could think about was the time I’ve wasted, how the mages suffered in my absence. I closed the clinic... I’ve been writing in my wretched manifesto all afternoon. I was Vengeance again, Fenris... Maker, I don’t want to be that, again. I don’t want to be controlled... I don’t want that, anymore.”

Fenris was sweating with effort to maintain the lyrium’s energy. It wasn’t meant to be maintained for any period of time at this level. “Anders, I can't keep this up for long. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know... Maker, I don’t know. Do something... do it quickly. Whatever you decide to do, don’t tell me, because then we’ll both know, and he’ll fight.” Anders was pleading.

Fenris’ lyrium was flickering out. He dropped the flare, and found his leggings. Anders was still kneeling on the floor, no sign of Justice, yet. “I will see you soon,” the elf said, gruffly, moving out the door.

He struggled home. He used the hidden passage, he knew he was too exhausted from maintaining the battle flare to get home the long way. Bohdan greeted him, but he was too tired for more than a grunt as he slipped in the house and out again. He knew what he was going to do. He feared using it might tear Anders away from him, but he knew of only two other options. Death or Tranquility were all that would separate them... besides this.

He staggered through the door of his home, and up to the den. Rifling through the pack he hadn’t worn since that day in the slaver caverns, he found the runed collar and cuffs. He’d stuffed them in the bag out of habit; loot that might be sold. He just never took them out, again.

As he made his way to the stairwell, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to do this. He was barely able to walk upright, let alone enact his lyrium with enough force to cow Justice, and then collar him. He took a step on the stairs, and felt himself lurch forward--into a hard chest.

“Bohdan was right... you’re not well.” Hawke’s scruffy face came into view. He was supporting the elf in his arms, concern on his bearded face.

“Anders... Justice has him.” Hawke settled him to sit on the stairs. He pulled a health potion from his belt, pulled the cork with his teeth, and held it to Fenris’ lips. He drank and felt a surge of energy. “He is trying to hold his own, Hawke. He begged me to do something--anything--to silence the demon.” He held up the collar and cuffs.

“You’re going to collar Anders?” came the disbelieving question. “You think he or Justice will allow that?”

“Anders will. He’s desperate, Hawke. He wants Justice gone.I can hold off the demon with a battle flare, but I cannot hold it long. Help me do this. We can figure-out what to do after he is himself, again.”

“I’m not putting that on him unless I know we can remove it. How do you unlock them?”

“Touch all three together at the same time.”

Hawke looked at Fenris carefully. “Alright. I’ll help you. If Anders wants it off, though, it’s coming off.”

“Of course. I would never force this on him.”

“Let’s go get our mage.”

It turned-out to be easier than Fenris had feared. When they opened the door to the clinic, Anders was sitting at his desk, feverishly writing. Justice emerged as soon as the two men came through the clinic door. And, just as before, the moment Fenris flared his lyrium for battle, the demon subsided. Hawke jumped forward to snap the collar about Anders’ neck, but the mage held out his hands. Anders took the collar from him. He took a shuddering breath, raised the ring of metal, and snapped it closed around his own neck.

“Fenris, drop your energy,” the mage said quietly. The elf let his power drain, shaking from the effort a second sustained flare had required. 

“Anders....” he asked, uncertainly.

The mage nodded. “He’s gone.” He held up his hands, looking into his palms. “It’s all gone. I’ve got nothing,” he whispered.

Fenris moved forward, and gently folded the mage into his arms. Anders melted into him. “Anders... you have you. And, you are everything.” 

Anders took a deep breath. He looked into the elf’s eyes with a sad quirk of his lips. “The collar was a brilliant idea. I didn’t realize you’d kept it.”

“I had nearly forgotten it. Old habits.” He held out the bracelets. “Put these on, too. I want you to be able to remove it at anytime.” 

As Anders held his wrists out for Fenris to apply the bracelets, Hawke spoke up. “So... this is weird on a lot of levels, right now. Care to enlighten me?”

Hawke was filled-in on the events regarding Justice, leaving out certain intimacies. 

“I can’t go back to the way things were,” Anders was saying, adamantly. “I can’t live with the hate, the vengeance. Oh, Maker... we were going to set a bomb in the Chantry!”

“What?” Both warriors cried.

“Hawke, I’m sorry... the potion I asked you to help me find ingredients for? It was for explosives. Maker, what had I become?” He put a hand to his forehead, swearing under his breath.

“Vengeance. You had become Vengeance, Anders,” the elf replied. 

“You’re excusing this?” Hawke said in disbelief.

“Anders is himself, now. He is not Justice. He is not Vengeance.”

“He was part of this. He just said as much.”

“You have seen Anders without Justice, Hawke. He is an entirely different man. He is himself without that demon.” 

“That demon is still inside of him!”

“That demon is neutralized!”

“You’ve called him an abomination, often enough!”

“And, I was wrong!”

“How do you know?”

“Would I, of all people, fall in love with an abomination?” 

Silence rang as all three heard the elf’s words.

“You... you love me?” Anders asked with awe.

Fenris’ eyes met the mage’s. His voice seemed to have escaped him. He felt a tremulous smile play at the corners of his lips.

Anders smiled shyly, ducked his head.

“Well, this is all just heart-warming, but what the hell are you going to do, now?” asked an exasperated Hawke.

“Anders has been researching ways to neutralize the damned thing. We will keep in that direction. What the hell are you going to do, now?” Fenris replied.

“Anders, are you going to speak for yourself, or does that collar mute you, too?” Hawke demanded.

The mage blinked, then scowled at the man. “You can really be an ass,” he said.

“This is your mess... speak up!”

“Justice is part of my mind, yes... but, it seems he can be divided from me.”

He paused. “The bomb ingredients are buried under the bed in the back room. Someone please take care of them.” He looked at Fenris. “I want to go home. I’ve had a very bad day.”

Hawke sighed. “Fine. I’ll take care of the ingredients. Maker’s balls, when I think of the sewers we walked through to get that stuff....”

“Lock the door when you’re done. I still intend to use the supplies here for the clinic.”

Anders put his staff on his back, picked-up Fenris’ hand to lay a kiss on it, and led the elf out the door.

\-------------------

“I’m so sorry about how I treated you today, Fenris. My heart aches for it.”

The elf was combing fingers through the wet strands of Anders’ hair as the mage reclined against his chest in the warm water. Immediately upon returning to the mansion, the men had retreated to their refuge in the bathtub. It had required the heating of water on buckets over the fire. Some things were going to need adjustment, now that Anders’ magic was neutralized.

Fenris placed a long kiss on the crown of Anders’ head, and left his lips resting there, breathing him in. “No. It was not you. And, I was not hurt.” He took several deep, intoxicating breaths of Anders’ scent. “I wish I had a better way to help you than slapping a collar on you. I have no wish to deprive you of your magic, Anders.”

“I meant it when I said it was a brilliant idea. It helps, to know I can remove it at my discretion. Believe me, I’m not thrilled to be without magic, but this is far preferable to death or Tranquility.”

The elf cringed, and wrapped his arms about mage’s shoulders. “The thought of either... nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

Anders’ voice answered quietly. “I didn’t say it, earlier, Fenris, but...I love you, too.”

Fenris kissed Anders temple, then breathed into his ear, “Take me to bed, and erase this afternoon from our minds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOOOOOVE! Fucking Justice. Dick. I know Anders says they are One... but, I don't buy it. And, this is my story, so.... Anders minus magic. Weird, huh? Suppression collar ex machina!


	12. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders works around a lack of magic.
> 
> Fenris experiences new emotions.

“I do not understand how you intend to keep the clinic open, without magical ability.”

“Not every healer is a mage, Fenris. With most mages locked in a Circle, non-magical healers are most common.”

“Herbs and roots and snake oil.”

Anders shook his head, chuckling. “Yes, actually, to all. I don’t have snake oil, at the moment, but it has its uses. What do you think healing potions and stamina potions are? Don’t underestimate the mundane practice of medicine.”

The elf scowled at the flames in the fireplace. He’d been teaching Anders how to start and maintain a fire. The mage was trying to cope with the loss of his magic, not knowing how long he might need to wear the collar. Impatient by nature even with magic, he was more so without. With everything he learned to do without his powers, he bemoaned, “It takes so blasted long.”

He’d managed the fire himself, this morning, and Fenris was trying to remind him, gently, that the thing needed fed, or it would die. A near lifetime of waving a hand at the hearth to start and restart a fire hadn’t made the mage mindful of its upkeep.

“Why are you so opposed to my going back to the clinic? You were perfectly happy when I reopened it the first time.”

“No, I was not perfectly happy. The threat of templars grows greater every day. But, at least, then, you could defend yourself. Now....” he stopped. He struggled with the emotions that seemed to leap into his throat and strangle him. Ever since he came to the realization of his feelings for Anders, he felt like a ball of melodramatic fervor. Every emotion he’d so carefully avoided for a lifetime was vying to express itself, whether or not he wanted it to. He was exhausted by it all. 

Anders sat next to him. “I have no magic, they can’t...” he glanced at the elf’s face. “Again? Come here,” he put his arm around his shoulders. 

“I cannot even have a simple conversation without losing control of myself!” Fenris exclaimed.

Anders ran his hand into the elf’s soft hair. “Cut yourself some slack. You hid your emotions your whole life. You let a couple out, they all come busting through. It’ll get easier.”

“I wish it to be easier, now.”

“Petulance... that’s a sexy look on your face.”

“Shut up, Mage.”

“Ooh... Inflamed Fenris. You know I like that one.” The mage found himself landing hard on his backside on the floor. “Ow... I could do without Hostile Fenris.” He pulled himself up and returned to packing the bag sitting on his bed.

“You try these emotional swings. See how you like it.”

“Hey, remember that mage you brought to your mansion after he was attacked? He spent the better part of half a year bouncing between bawling, silence, screaming, and anger? Shall I go get him, so he can weigh-in on this topic?”

Fenris appeared beside the mage. “I do remember that mage. He was surprisingly strong,” he took the jar of herbs out of Anders’ hands; “overwhelmingly affectionate,” he slid his robes off of his shoulders; “and, astonishingly attractive.” He pushed the mage backward onto the bed, following to land over him. “Whatever happened to that mage?” His lips traveled down the neck that was laid bare, but for the delicate collar, before him. 

Anders was grinning in delight. “I think he got all better. I heard he found the right guy, settled down, and started a pie shop.”

Fenris paused briefly in his exploration. “A pie shop?”

“That mage really likes pies.”

Fenris’ hand was fast-forwarding, trailing down the mage’s front to find his trouser drawstrings. “Is this a euphemism I've not heard?” He reached into the mage’s smalls, and began stroking the half-hard flesh he found there.

“Uhhhhhh... no..... that’s nice.... I just like pie.”

Fenris gave the mage a smirk, and slithered down his body. He pulled the rapidly hardening shaft out of the clothing that hid it. During the weeks since Anders took the collar, they had both learned to enjoy Fenris’ mouth on the mage’s shaft. Fenris had performed the act countless times at the behest of his now-dead master. He’d initially had no desire to ever do it again. Anders was still unable to bring himself to do so. It didn’t occur to him to ask it of Fenris if he, himself, wasn’t willing.

The night Fenris had acted on an impulse to taste his mage, he’d been delighted with the difference. His time of sublimation and debasement was entirely different from the pleasure given and received with his lover. He found himself addicted to the taste and feel of Anders in his mouth. 

Now, teasing the mage with nimble tongue, he heard the sounds he loved most--Anders in ecstasy. The mage normally had a soothing, friendly voice. In bed, it dropped an octave and took on a husky quality that never failed to travel straight from the elf’s ears to his dick.

It wasn’t long at all before the mage was thrusting into his mouth, hands clenched in the silky white hair. “Fenris... Fenris, love... ahhhhhhh... Maker....” Fenris glanced up to see Anders glancing down. The elf narrowed his eyes, and applied intense suction while pulling the mage’s sack firmly. Anders’ head snapped back against the bed, and his cry filled the room. 

Fenris greedily sucked down every drop the mage spilled. He moaned around his mouthful of softening flesh, and then eased Anders from his mouth. Wiping his lips, he crawled back up to the panting mage.

Anders turned his head to lazily catch a kiss from Fenris. “Are you trying to convince me to stay home?”

“If only that would work. Just sending you off with a smile.”

Anders smiled, reaching for the laces on Fenris’ leggings. “And, for you...?”

The elf stopped his hands. “Tempting, but no. It will give me something to do after you have left.” He stroked the mage’s cheek and chin. “I miss you when you are gone.”

Anders smiled softly. “I miss you, too. Maybe, stop by later?”

“Count on it.”

\------------------------

The day did seem to go well. After Anders left for the clinic, Fenris did, indeed, take care of his own arousal. He did his exercises, bathed, dressed and left for some errands. He found Lirene, and arranged for a woman to do some housekeeping and laundry a few days a week. 

He stopped by the Hanged Man to talk with Varric about finding a dwarven contractor. He’d heard that Orzammar had hot and cold plumbing. He wanted to have warm water on tap. Really, he and Anders had an unhealthy addiction to the bathtub. He didn’t care. Only problem, he needed a contractor with discretion, given he didn’t actually own the mansion. Varric thought he could find someone for him.

At noon, he searched the marketplace until he found food items to take to the clinic for Anders. Then, toting his goods, he headed to Darktown. The crowd was at the clinic, as always. He pushed through, and saw Anders, talking with a family. He was giving them a jar of cream, and explaining its use. When the family left, the mage looked up and saw him. His smile was bright. He motioned the next family to come forward, then walked to Fenris. 

“It’s going pretty well! I wish like hell I could use magic for some problems, but the people are pleased with what I can do. I need a trip to Sundermount to collect more herbs. I can make medicines cheaper than we can buy them. Is that lunch? I don’t think I can eat while people sit here, sick and hungry.”

Fenris smiled to himself. This was his chatterbox, excited Anders. “This is lunch, which you will eat. I brought food for those waiting.” He showed him the basket full of fruit, bread and cheese. It had been an impulse, knowing how Anders would feel about not sharing food.

An impulse worth every copper, looking at Anders’ face. “You are unbelievable!” He pressed a fast kiss to the elf’s lips, then took the basket. “Everyone, it’s past time for people to eat. Here, divide that out... make sure to take home something for the rest of your families....”

He came back to Fenris and led him to the little cubby that had once served as his bedroom. The floor had a large hole in the dirt, but the cot still sat against a wall. They sat on it, and Fenris pulled their lunch out of his pack.

“I’m so glad you brought this. I’m starving. I’m not used to working without Justice’s energy supply... is this pie?” He unwrapped the pastry and looked at Fenris with childlike delight.

“I was told that you really like pie,” Fenris deadpanned as he opened cheese and bread. He nearly dropped the food as he was pulled into a fierce, passion-filled kiss. 

When the healer released his lips, Fenris blinked at the warm brown eyes gazing into his. “You really do like pie,” he said wonderingly.

\-------------------------------

Anders was full of energy, again. He was frustrated daily by his lack of magic, but set about finding ways to work around it. He and Fenris hiked to Sundermount regularly to find herbs, roots and other supplies. Fenris enjoyed the hikes, immensely. As much as he didn’t care for dirt and sand underfoot, it had been a long, long sojourn in the mansion. The movement and fresh air made both men breathe with relief. 

He was surprised that the mage didn’t object to Fenris’ insistence on accompanying him. It occurred to him that Anders was probably more aware of his lack of self-protection than the elf was. Although he made some complaints about lacking his magic, Fenris suspected that it was a far deeper cut than Anders let on. His magic had defined him, given him purpose, given him joy. That he was dealing with it as well as he did was worth appreciating. 

Anders set up an alchemy room in the mansion to make his medicines and salves. He also made some cash of his own, selling some of those wares to the madam at The Blooming Rose. Going with him to the brothel brought up some personal issues for Fenris. Living with the elf had done more than improve Anders’ mental health. Under Fenris’ focused attention, and a lack of Justice, Anders was thriving. He ate better, slept more, had access to bathing facilities, had a better wardrobe. 

Fenris, glancing about the brothel as Anders made his sale of medicines, couldn’t help but notice the attention his companion was garnering. He cast a critical eye on him. He had filled-out; his broad shoulders thicker, long legs strong. His burnished gold hair shone in the lamplight, its silky texture evident. His skin had lost its pallor, and his warm brown eyes were no longer set in shadows. His clothing fit him properly, and was in good repair. Even his shy manner gave him an enticing appeal. The man was captivatingly attractive. 

Fenris felt a low growl developing in his chest as he saw the patrons and workers in the whorehouse run their eyes over Anders. More of those damned feelings. This one came with a hot spear of protection. Anders was not for their pleasure. He was not be looked at as some toy for their amusement. That strangers would look at him that way infuriated him.

As soon as Anders finished his transaction, Fenris took his hand and pulled him to the door. “What’s your hurry?” The startled mage asked.

Fenris growled, pulling Anders after him down the streets. “I do not care for the way they looked on you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Fenris stopped, turning to the baffled man. “So many of them... ogling you, leering at you like some... some....” he was beginning to bluster.

Anders frowned. Then, a smile began to form. “People were checking me out, and it made you jealous?”

Fenris’ face was stormy. “I'm not jealous. I'm disgusted by people who reduce you to your body.” He growled some more. “They want to touch you, perhaps hurt you.”

“I think you’re overreacting just a little bit. People look at people, Fenris. It doesn’t mean they intend to do anything about it. You know, people check you out, all the time.”

Fenris started walking again. “You are ridiculous. No one looks on me with desire... except you. Because, you are ridiculous.”

Anders laughed. “I’m ridiculous? You’re gorgeous! With hair like silk, huge, green eyes, a perfectly formed body, and a voice like molten chocolate... you have no idea how sinfully attractive you are, do you?”

Fenris grumbled. Anders laughed. Then, he sobered.

“You’re not worried that I’d be interested in being with anyone else, do you?”

Fenris looked startled. “No! Well, it had not occurred to me.” He began thinking. Maybe Anders would become interested in others. He obviously wouldn’t lack for willing partners. That thought, alone, made his chest burn. Unbidden, an image of the mage in heated embrace with a faceless stranger crossed his mind. He again stopped abruptly, chest heaving.

Anders spoke softly. “Fenris. I have no desire for anyone else but you. I can’t even imagine wanting to be with anyone else. I’ve had enough dalliances in my youth, I know what I want. All that I want is you.”

Fenris looked up at the healer, face open with sincerity. “When I think of you with someone else, my heart boils in my chest.”

Anders smiled, and took the elf’s hand to lead him home. “I’m not worried about me wanting someone else. I do worry about you, though.”

“You find me to be frivolous with my affections?”

Anders laughed. “Hardly. But, this is all so new for you. Sex, relationship, love... I’m your first love, Fenris. Most people have seconds, possibly thirds. How can you know that I’m what you want, period?”

“Why would I possibly want someone else? What could any offer me that you do not?”

The mage shook his head. “The question is, what couldn’t they offer? Fenris, outside of my apparent physical charms, I’m a mess. A magically neutered abomination with sex issues, and a shelf of life of 20 more years, tops. Why wouldn’t you trade me for an attractive young man or woman who could give you a whole life, perhaps even children, and, no fear of templars or wardens knocking at your door?”

“Because all those things make you, you. And, all those things, allow you understand me better than anyone else ever could. You are perfect, to me.”

“Damn it, elf,” the mage groused huskily, blinking rapidly.

“Face leaking, again?” The elf asked mildly.

“Yes. It’s your damn fault.” 

“I have that effect on magically neutered abominations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, yeah... Anders is a hottie. And, Fenris... he's just getting beat-up by feelings. It happens. One or two come knocking, and the rest just pile on through the door.


	13. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clinic receives an unexpected visitor.
> 
> Anders gets a welcome news.

That night, Fenris held his breathtakingly gorgeous lover in his arms as their hearts slowed from their mind-blowing mutual climax. Anders’ libido was picking up. The mage attributed it to Grey Warden stamina. Fenris didn’t care where it came from. He would take all of Anders’ lovemaking that he could get. 

As his fingers wandered through locks of golden hair, his mind wandered to the conversation they’d had on the walk home. “Anders... do you want children?”

“Uhhh... what?”

“You mentioned me finding a person who could give me children. Do you want children?”

“Oh. Well. You know, mages don’t really think about that. Babies are made in Circles, sure, but once they’re born, they’re taken away and given to the Chantry. The parents never see them again.”

“But, did you want them?”

“I think I would have. I liked children. I was pretty good with them, too. After a few escape attempts, they didn’t let me work with the little ones anymore. I was a bad influence. But, yes... I would have been happy to have grown up in my little village, marry, have a family, raise stock and crops. That’s what I wanted before my magic showed.” He thought a moment. “Now, though. I’m older, I’m a Grey Warden, which makes conception less likely, plus I have a short life span. That ship has sailed, I think.”

“You would be good with children. I rarely ever saw any. And, they were frightened of me, regardless.”

“Why were they frightened of you?”

“My appearance is unsettling to many people, Anders. Danarius expected me to always look fearsome, in my armor and expression. He liked to intimidate people.”

“Did you ever wish for a family?”

“No, not really. It was never a hardship for me, in that regard.”

“Did slaves ever have children?”

“Only if they were bred. If a slave became pregnant without it being planned, both the mother and child were used as sacrifice for rituals. The father, if it was a slave, was emasculated.”

“Maker, Fenris. How did they know who the father was, for sure?”

“Blood magic. It’s a simple ritual, as I understand, requiring the blood of the child.”

“Is there anything about Tevinter that isn’t horrifying?”

Fenris grunted. “The weather is fine; warm, sultry days, with a cool breeze come evening. There are flowers that only bloom at sundown, and fill the air with delicate scents. Luscious fruit grows there, succulent like no fruit I have found further south. The architecture is ancient, graceful, flowing... spires winding through tree branches and rock formations, blending nature and construction into artwork.”

Anders lay in stunned silence. “I’ve never heard you say a single good thing about Tevinter in all the years I’ve known you.”

“You will notice I make no mention of the people.”

“Ah. Right. The mages. My kind of people.”

“No. Not your kind of people. You would suffer horribly, there.”

“You once said I’d do well, apprenticed to the right magister.”

“I was wrong. You are too gentle, too thoughtful. You would be enslaved, a fine prize to the magister who won you.”

“Is... that a compliment?”

“It's neither. It is a terrifying truth. I would die to prevent it happening to you.”

“Maker. Your life was heartbreaking. I know you’d like to remember your life before the lyrium... but sometimes I wonder if it would be too painful.”

“I have wondered the same thing, Anders. Some things are perhaps best left forgotten.”

\-----------------------

Winter was well in force, though, to Anders, Kirkwall didn’t know from a real winter. A year had passed since the slavers had captured Fenris and Anders. Anders had adapted to his loss of magic, as well as could be expected. Fenris knew he missed it like the elf would miss a limb. Too often, the mage would throw out an arm, or flutter his hand, instinctively trying to cast a spell. The look of sadness on his face at those times was poignant. 

There had been a few times when one of Anders’ patients had not survived a malady that would have been cured by magic. Those evenings, Anders stretched out on their bed, and sobbed. Like any healer, he knew he couldn’t cure everyone, but those times when he could have, if he’d had magic... it was heartbreaking for him.

Anders’ clinic did well, overall. He enjoyed his work. He was busy in the clinic, with alchemy, and enjoying company in the mansion and at the Hanged Man. Fenris decided that the mage was likely to never get back his previous vivacity in public and groups. Secretly, he enjoyed that only he shared in the joy of Anders’ full-bodied laughter and chattering exuberance. Watching him give shy smiles and talk quietly in the company of others was just so sweet. Seeing him that way, the warrior felt his heart melt into a sweet puddle.

Anders said firmly that he did not miss Justice. The suppression collar continued to keep the spirit at bay. The collar itself was clearly a magical artifact to anyone who saw at. The styling of the runes, the thin metal, bespoke of arcane origin. Anders preferred to keep it and the cuffs out of sight. He took to wearing a thin scarf around his neck, to cover it. He crafted small bracers to conceal the cuffs. 

He’d had one visit by the templars... or, rather, a templar. Fenris happened to be there. Closing time at the clinic, and the elf had come to walk with Anders to the Hanged Man. A heavy knock on the door surprised them both... it had the sound of a metal gauntlet.

It was Knight Captain Cullen, alone. The two men had watched him silently as he came through the door. The man looked uncomfortable, rubbing his neck with one hand.

“Ah, good evening. Anders and Fenris, isn’t it? I’ve seen you with The Champion a time or two.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Knight Captain?” Anders’ voice was guarded, but steady.

“The Knight Commander received word that an apostate had reopened the Darktown clinic. She ordered it investigated.”

Both Fenris and Anders froze.

“I am a Ferelden, myself, and I didn’t want to cause a scene that might frighten refugees from getting help they so need. So, I came alone. I hoped a conversation might be more, um, enlightening than an invasion, so to speak.”

Cullen stopped speaking, focusing his gaze on Anders. He frowned. Removing one gauntlet, he reached a hand toward the mage, which Fenris caught in a fast, punishing grip. 

“Fenris,” Anders warned.

“I mean only to touch him... if I may?” Anders nodded, and Fenris loosed his hand, growling. Cullen laid his palm on Anders’ chest, as though he were searching for his heartbeat, but not finding it. He pulled it back and sighed. “Anders... I know you're a mage. I remember you from Kinloch Hold. You’re obviously not Tranquil, so... what happened to your magic?”

Anders and Fenris’ eyes met, and returned to the templar, frowning.

“Look, I don’t want to close the clinic. I don’t want to take you to the Gallows. Just... reassure me of your benign intentions.”

Anders sighed, and pulled the scarf from around his neck.

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “A suppression collar?”

“I took it voluntarily.”

“I’m... surprised.”

“My clinic uses only alchemy and herbs. I haven’t had magic in months.”

“And, the lock? Can I assume The Champion has the key?”

“You can.” Fenris bit back a smirk. Cullen could assume anything he wanted.

Cullen seemed to relax. “Things are not going well in the Gallows. I will confess, the Knight Commander is... erratic. I do not always agree with her assessments. I’ll file a report that the clinic has a non-magical healer. Please, keep a low profile.”

“I recall you saying that mages aren’t like people. Why would you make an effort to help me?”

Cullen took a deep breath. “I have had a change of heart. I can’t go into why. Please hear me when I say, something is coming to a head, soon. There is a madness slowly taking the city, and you should be prepared.” He pulled his gauntlet back on. As he turned to leave, he said, softly, “Maker watch over you both.”

The men watched as the templar left, pulling the door shut after him. They exchanged disbelieving looks. 

Anders wrapped the scarf about his neck, again. “We should tell Hawke about this. He has an ear to the city.”

\----------------------------

On a glorious morning in early spring, Anders received a letter. Fenris, who’d been doing his swordwork in the ballroom, heard the knock. A messenger held out an envelope. Fenris’ heart stuttered a second at the origin: Tevinter. It was clearly addressed to Anders, however.

Upstairs, the mage was still buried under the blankets, only his hair showing. Fenris gently pulled the blankets away from his peaceful face, and woke him in his usual manner--a loud, wet, smacking kiss to his ear. Anders jumped, and covered his head. His voice came muffled from under the pillow.

“Do that again, a lot lower, and maybe we can talk.”

“You have a letter, mage. From Tevinter.” The covers flew as Anders untangled himself to sit up.

He took the letter, staring at the address. 

“It is easier to read if you remove it from the envelope,” Fenris suggested.

Anders sighed. “Have you no sense of moment? I’m preparing for both good and bad news.”

“Ugh. Shall I open it?”

“Fine.” Anders opened it, reading slowly. He read it again. And, one more time. 

“Fasta vass! What does it say?”

“It’s from Feynriel. It’s a potion recipe. To put Fade spirits to sleep. It makes them unresponsive until their corporeal host degrades. I like that... he won’t haunt my corpse when I die. It’s difficult to make... I only need to do it once....” the hand holding the letter dropped to the blankets, as his other pressed against his heart.

“Maker... Maker, Fenris... this could be it.” He started hyperventilating, slightly. “Oh, Maker, it can’t be real... can it?”

Fenris bore him back into the bedding. He slowed the mage’s breathing with a deep, consuming kiss. “Anders... it can be real. Get up. We’ll go get the ingredients.”

“Some we may need to order, they’re pretty obscure. Maybe the Antiquarian has some, or can get them. Oh, Maker!” He was holding the letter behind Fenris’ head, reading it over his shoulder.

He was able to find all but two ingredients. Xenon the Antiquarian promised delivery of them within a month, two at most. Anders was nearly high on anticipation. At supper, the mage barely ate. He hopped up and down from his chair, chattered nearly non-stop, paced, picked at his clothes, picked at Fenris’ hair and armor; basically drove the elf to distraction. Telling him to calm down only ratcheted him up, further.

In effort to calm the man, Fenris began topping his wine glass diligently. Anders, too excited to notice, quickly became mildly inebriated. So many years with Justice preventing him from drinking had made him a light-weight.

Slurring his words slightly, slowing down his high-speed prattle, the mage started to unwind. He was sitting at the moment, leaning forward to look at Fenris intently. “Do you realize how many options will be open to me, if this works? I’ll have magic!” He flung his arm out in emphasis, sending the red wine from the goblet in that hand sluicing across the room. “I won’t have to worry about being overrun by some big, scary, Justice-slinging spook... don’t get me wrong... he was a really nice guy until he got mixed into my brain. Fucked the poor guy up.”

“Fucked you up,” Fenris offered.

Anders gaped. “Did you just say ‘fuck’?” You never swear!”

“There, you are wrong. I swear all the time.”

“In Tevene. That’s not swearing. That’s cocky-swotty-snotty talk. ‘Fuck’. That’s a good word. That’s swearing.”

Fenris tried to keep a straight face, but really, the mage was in rare form. “I shall endeavor to use it more frequently.”

Anders stood, nearly falling. Fenris reached to catch him, but he managed to right himself. He kept up his slurred dissertation, wandering about the room. “I could travel. Want to go to Antiva with me? Or, no... Rivain! Let’s go to Rivain!"

“What's in Rivain!"

“Um... Rivain, is in Rivain."

“That's a good place for it.”

Anders gasped. “Isabela’s from Rivain. She could take us there in her ship.”

“I am sure she would.”

“We could go to Tevinter.”

“Why in the Void would we want to go to Tevinter?”

“Kill the magisters. All of ‘em. Just wade in and unleash on their slave-owning asses.”

“I admire your plan, but you may be underestimating the true scope of such an endeavor.”

Anders finally did fall, trying to turn around. Fenris leapt up and caught him. Anders landed face first in his arms, head against his chest. His eyes roved slowly up to the elf’s face. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I am full of surprises.” He righted the mage, who kept a hold on him.

“Kiss me, Fenris.”

“Anders... you are perhaps too drunk to--” his words were cut off by a very fervent, badly aimed kiss. Anders had managed to get about half of the elf’s mouth with his, and was doing a very impassioned job of slobbering all over Fenris’ lips and chin.

“Ugh... really... Anders, maybe you should go to bed.”

“That’s my plan... take me to bed.”

Fenris helped the mage to the bed, and dropped him on it. He looked for his wine glass, but it was no longer in his hand. Oh, well. It would show up.

“Fenris?”

“Mage?”

“I’m kind of tired, now.”

“Good.”

“I want to go to bed.”

“That's a good place to go when tired.”

“Come to bed with me.”

“Are you planning to throw-up?”

“Not as such.”

“Alright.”

The mage closed his eyes. Fenris sat and simply took in the man’s visage. He thought about how far they’d come in so little time. There was a time when all he wanted was the mage out of his life. Now, Anders was all that he wanted in it. If the mage sobered up and still wanted to go to Rivaini... Fenris would pack their gear.

But, right now, Anders was in his bed, and had asked Fenris to join him. He pulled off the mage’s boots and covered him with blankets. Placing a soft, sweet kiss to Anders’ brow, he undressed and joined the mage in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope on the horizon. Feynriel ex machina. Anders, if he'd never had magic... what did he say in Awakenings? "Settle down in the country with a plump wife and several nubile mistresses." Don't quote me. And... Cullen! He and Fenris tie for second place in my favorite DA characters' list.


	14. Reclamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders takes back what is his.

Fortunately, Anders was able to calm himself after his hangover the next morning. He didn’t mention the amount of wine he’d had, but Fenris saw the accusing glances the mage sent his way.

The weeks passed slowly, as time does when waiting. Fenris attempted to keep Anders busier than usual. There were more visits to the Hanged Man, more card games at the mansion, more trips to gather herbs, more sex. Whether or not it worked, Anders didn’t complain.

Finally, a message arrived from Xenon, letting Anders know that the ingredients had been delivered. Once home with them, the mage disappeared into his alchemy room. It took several days to brew the potion. Anders didn’t go to the clinic. He was in and out of the room at all hours, catching brief snippets of sleep in-between. 

Finally, he walked into the bedroom, carrying a vial in his hand. It was an innocuous looking substance, cloudy yellow, unimpressive. Yet, Fenris knew, it had the potential to completely change Anders’ life, for the better.

“How do you wish to go about this?” the elf asked.

Anders was gazing at the potion with bright eyes. “Better go somewhere that, if things go wrong, no one gets hurt in the crossfire.”

“What crossfire would that be?”

The mage looked serious. “The only way we’ll know if this works, is to remove the suppression collar after I take it. If it doesn’t work, well, I imagine Justice will be pissed-off. You know that. You don’t think he’s going to allow the collar back on, do you?. If there’s a fight.... “

Fenris sighed. “We’ll go to the Wounded Coast, and have Hawke and few others come with us. IF it does not work, we will subdue Justice, and get the collar back on you.”

“Fenris... if Justice can’t be controlled.... you may have to kill me.”

The elf walked forward, taking the mage’s face in his hands. “Never. I will die, first.”

Anders sighed. “I wish our lives weren’t always bounced between ways to die. I wish I didn’t have to ask the man I love to kill me. I wish the man I love didn’t have to feel he had to choose between his death and mine.” He pulled Fenris into an embrace. “I wish I could just live, and love you.”

Fenris held the mage in return. “You will, Anders. You will see.”

\-----------------------------

It was a bright, mild day when the group set out. Hawke, Varric and Isabela joined Fenris and Anders on their walk to the Wounded Coast. Fenris led the party as far from the slavers' caverns, as possible. 

The walk was peaceful. Aveline had sent heavy patrols of the city guard out the past three nights to make sure it was clear for this event. It was noon by the time they reached their destination; the clearing at the point where they’d rescued Seamus, so long ago.

Knowing it would take a while before the collar’s effects would wear off, Anders decided to start right away. Stealing a kiss from Fenris, he took out the potion, and tossed it back without ceremony. He waited a moment to be sure of his physical reaction to it. When there was none, he raised his wrists, and clicked the bracelets to the collar. All three rings snapped open, and he dropped them to the ground.

He looked up at the group watching him. He smiled a somewhat forced grin. “Well! So far, so good. It took hours for Justice to appear, last time. Let’s eat and rest, so we’re all fresh for... whatever.”

The group lit a fire and broke out the lunch Orana had packed for them. Fenris was sitting with his back to one of the rock formations. He pulled Anders between his legs to lean back against him, reminiscent of their bathtub position. The mage wasn’t in a mood to eat, but Fenris was unrelenting. For every bite the elf took, he held a piece of food to Anders’ lips, and waited until the mage took a bite. After he’d taken less than Fenris was happy with, Anders was through. Fenris pulled him closer, to relax against the elf’s chest, and spoke softly into his ear. 

The group was quiet, respecting Anders’ anxiety. Except for the one card game, in which Anders had deliberately put on a brazen show to distract the players, the pair were usually discreet. Seeing them now, it was almost too intimate to watch. 

Anders’ cheek nestled against the elf’s jaw, as his fingers lightly stroked the leggings encasing the long legs that cradled him. Fenris’ velvety murmur could be heard as he talked softly to the mage. Anders answered him in the same soft tone, leaning into the elf when Fenris pressed kisses to his temple and combed his fingers through the mage’s hair. It was clear he was soothing the mage as they all waited for whatever would come. Seeing this tender interaction made them realize that what they’d assumed was simply a physical attraction, was much more. 

Fenris was a ball of anxiety inside. He spoke to the mage of inane things... plans for the clinic, home improvement, plans to find a cat in the city almost devoid of the creatures. He was inhaling the mage’s scent, touching him, to calm himself. He could feel the surreptitious glances of the group on them. He didn’t care. He felt no shame in the love he shared with this man. Let them see. Let them understand why losing Anders was simply not an option, however this afternoon panned-out.

Every hour or so, Anders would raise a palm, and look expectant. When nothing happened, he dropped his hand back on Fenris’ leg, and close his eyes, listening to the elf’s soft voice.

Finally, as the sun was just touching the waters of the Waking Sea, a tiny blue light fluttered in his palm.

“Do you want a lyrium potion?” Fenris asked. 

“No. I’m not worried about my powers, the mana will return. I want to draw Justice out, if he’s not sleeping.”

Fenris sat up slightly, “Take off everything above the waist,” he murmured. Fenris stripped off his upper body armor, and peeled his tunic off. When Anders had done the same, the elf pulled him back against him. Wrapping his arms around the mage, Fenris activated his lyrium, briefly. 

The lyrium activation made Anders shudder, his low mana surging in response.

“Oooh... now it’s getting good,” Isabela said quietly. Hawke elbowed her.

“Justice likes the lyrium, you filthy woman,” Hawke said.

“Me, too,” she replied.

Fenris rolled his eyes, and buried his nose in Anders’ neck. Having his robe and tunic off made holding the mage that much more delightful. He inhaled Anders’ sun-kissed scent deeply. “I love you, Anders,” he whispered softly. He wasn’t effusive with his declarations, but he needed Anders to hear it now, this close to possible disaster.

The mage lifted his mouth the the elf’s ear. “I love you, Fenris. Never doubt that.”

Several times an hour, Fenris’ activated his lyrium, the blue-white light glowing in the coming darkness. Anders continued checking for his magic. Finally, Anders’ little blue light shone like a beacon. “My mana’s back.”

Hawke stood. “And, Justice?”

Anders concentrated a moment. His face was tense, probing within his mind, seeking for some sign of the spirit. Finally, he turned to the elf behind him. “I can feel him....” he smiled. “He’s sleeping.”

Fenris’ face shone with a mix of disbelief and joy. “Truly? He sleeps?”

“Sound asleep.” Anders’ smile was blinding in the firelight. “It worked. It worked!” He bounced from the ground, and grinning like a madman, threw his arms out wide. Lightning burst from his hands and chest, coursing through the air and into the sky, exploding into an enormous fireworks display. He spun, arms raised and shot firebolt after firebolt straight into the heavens. He spun again, arms and legs spread-eagle, threw back his head and howled at the top of his lungs, in pure joy, as lightning again decorated the darkness.

The group watching began howling and shouting with him, in celebration; dancing around the campfire under the display. 

Fenris, sitting where he’d been, gazed up at the mage. Anders’ body shone in the light from the fire, his skin golden, licked with red. His smiling, howling face was lit by the lightning and his encompassing joy. He was stunning, beautiful, godlike. Fenris was lost in awe at the vision, uncaring of the joyful tears streaming down his face.

Anders dropped his arms and rounded on Fenris. He pulled the elf up onto his feet, and into his arms. He stroked the tears away with his thumbs, and smiling all the while, covered his mouth with his own. This was a kiss of pure delight, of freedom. Fenris kissed him back with all his heart and soul. The tears Anders had wiped away were only replaced by new ones.

When Anders’ mouth pulled away, the mage helped Fenris dry his face before the others saw his tears. “There’s something I need to do,” he whispered. Still holding Fenris, he turned to the others. “I need to take care of some old business. Will you help?”

“Anything you need!” Hawke laughed.

Fenris kept his eye on the mage as they hiked the sandy paths to the caverns. Partly to simply look at him--Anders’ face was awash with both delight and determination; he looked absolutely beautiful. Also, Fenris was watching for tell-tale signs of anxiety or fear. Returning to the scene of the attack was going to be painful, no doubt about it. 

Taking only a short time, the group approached the entrance carefully. There were no obvious signs of occupation. Hawke and Isabela took the lead, with Anders behind, followed by Fenris and Varric. A short way in, skeletonized corpses littered the corridor.

“That’s the group we took down, after you two left,” Isabela pointed out. “Hard fight, but, let’s face it, we’re just good.”

“Hawke does get results, doesn’t he?” agreed Varric.

A little further, and the remains of the net that had ensnared Fenris and Anders lay in a mouldering heap against the cave wall. Soon, the torture cavern was in view.

Anders stepped backward when the cavern came into view, breathing hard as he leaned against the wall. 

Fenris touched his arm. “Anders?”

The mage took several breaths, then nodded. He took Fenris’ hand, and keeping his eyes on his feet, walked quickly through the room. He stayed out of the adjoining room with the cage. Isabela darted in, then out, and declared it clear.

The caverns ended in a final room. Two skeletons lay on the floor, both with gaping holes through the sternum and ribcages. Fenris took note of the intense look with which Anders bored the remains.

“Hawke... perhaps you could all wait for us, outside,” the elf said quietly.

Hawke was also watching Anders. He nodded. “Sure. Take your time.” He beckoned to the others and retreated to the cavern’s entrance.

Fenris stood back, letting Anders work through whatever was in his mind. The mage slowly approached the skeletons. He nudged at one with his staff blade. His boot nudged at the other. 

Suddenly, he was kicking, stomping, and battering the remains with his staff. Bones flew, ribcages crumpled. For several minutes, the mage unleashed purely physical attacks upon the remains of his tormentors. His chest was loudly heaving, grunting with the effort

Then, he shouted, “Get clear, Fenris,” and unleashed volley after volley of fireballs and firestorms at the bones. The whole room was aflame, the heat pressing the men back. Still, Anders continued to fire off blazing destruction. He turned, grabbed Fenris’ hand and ran down the corridor. He stopped at the cavern with the cage, and lightning lit of the small room. Bolt after bolt, storm after storm, until the iron bars melted into puddles in the sand. Then, fire consumed the rest. 

When he finally turned to the torture chamber, he was grimacing with anguished fury. He unleashed on the terrible equipment, melted, burned, pulverized it. The destruction was enough that the ceiling of the cavern began to give way, and rocks and boulders fell into the firestorm. It was Fenris who grabbed the mage’s hand this time, and ran him down the corridor. The decayed net and remaining skeletons received the same destruction. The corridor was aflame, Anders’ face and hands red and blistered from the heat.

Fenris dragged him from the caverns, out into the clear night air. Smoke and stray lightning wisps were rolling from the entrance. Hawke’s group was a short distance away, watching the entrance curiously. As soon as they were clear, Anders dropped to his knees in exhaustion, sweat pouring from his reddened skin.

Fenris pressed a lyrium potion into his hand. “Drink it, Anders, and heal yourself,” he directed. The mage did as bade, and his blistered, burned skin disappeared; leaving only the soot and dust streaking his face, hair and clothes. He struggled to his feet, and pulled himself against the elf, his embrace fierce.

“There’s nothing left.” His voice was grating, tight.

“Nothing,” Fenris affirmed, holding the mage securely.

“As though they didn’t exist.”

“That's true,” he assured. “You made them disappear.”

Anders turned his face into the elf’s sooty, dusty hair. “I wanted to disappear, for so long,” he murmured. “I wanted to die. You brought me back, gave me hope, gave me strength.”

“It was an equal trade. You've given me as much.”

“Take me home, Fenris.”

“Always.”

“Always?” The mage’s voice was uncertain.

“Anders,” the elf spoke tenderly, “If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

Hand in hand, surrounded by their friends, they made their way back to their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders doesn't need Justice in order to wreak his own, personal vengeance.


	15. Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris find closure.

Fenris was lost in the kinds of thoughts that came from nothing and went nowhere. The sweet sort of lost that had no worry, no concern for being found.

Floating in the warmth of their friend--the large, copper bathtub--eyes closed, head resting against the high, sloping end of the tub, his mind wandered aimlessly. His fingers wandered, as well; through the hair, along the neck, across the shoulders, of the mage reclined against him. 

Upon returning from the Wounded Coast, without a word, Anders had filled the tub with cold water, and heated it with magic. They now had hot and cold running water, but Anders was using magic for any and everything he possibly could. He’d then undressed the both of them, washed them both of the soot and sand of the coast, and guided Fenris into the steaming water. Climbing in after him, he seated himself in the embrace of the elf’s arms and legs... and drifted away in his mind.

Fenris felt a sense of peace and ease he couldn’t remember feeling, before. The demon was gone and his mage had his magic back. Watching Anders destroy the caverns had been exhilarating, and cleansing. He felt that life was finally paying them both back for the muck-up of their earlier lives.

His hands moved to Anders’ hair again, fingers massaging into his scalp. The blissful moan from the man plastered to his front set butterflies fluttering through his belly in a lazy sort of way. 

“Fenris?”

“Hmm?”

“Make love to me.”

“With pleasure.”

Anders pulled himself up, and then guided the elf upright and out of the tub. They dried one another between long, sweet kisses. The mage steered them into the bedroom, and onto the bed, kisses never ending. It was a sweet, slow worship of each other; lips gentle and tender, touches adoring and reverent. The stately pace did nothing to diminish their ardor. As their bodies heated and roused, they stayed slow... but, grasped tighter, panted more heavily. 

As their bodies moved with their explorations, Anders pulled Fenris atop him, his knees raised, settling Fenris into the cradle of his thighs.

His soft whisper in Fenris’ ear confused him at first. “Like this....”

“What do you... ? Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more sure.... I’m taking back what was stolen from me.”

Fenris didn’t ask for confirmation twice. He slowly, so slowly, made his way down Anders’ body. Kisses, caresses, gentle scratches... all decorated the mage’s body as Fenris traveled Anders’ fair skin. The elf had always received, had never penetrated. He replayed in his mind the first time he had taken Anders inside of himself. He remembered every detail... how the mage had licked, sucked and kissed every part of him. Fenris used those memories as his guide, now.

Still so slow, so patient, he worshipped Anders. Nips to his hipbones were slow drags of his teeth. His tongue bathed his sack in long, endless washes. Painting the mage’s inner thighs with tongue and lips was a slow torturous pleasure. By the time he began to lave the puckered flesh of Anders’ entrance, the mage was panting and writhing in desperation.

“Fenris, love... uhn... I feel like I’m dying....” the mage’s voice was a gasping whisper. 

“Never... you are living....” he growled, pulling away and up the mage’s body. “Do your spell,” he instructed, sucking Anders’ throat and bringing a bright red mark to the surface of this skin.

Anders moaned at the treatment of his neck, and muttered the spell. “Fenris....”

“Anders....,” he moaned, pressing his rigid flesh to his entrance, “do you still want this...?” He pressed kisses to the mage’s face, eyes and forehead. 

“Oh, Maker, yes....”

With such care, such delectable ease, Fenris sheathed himself in Anders’ flesh. Biting his lip with restraint, he held himself in place, feeling Anders quivering under and around him. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of being within him, knowing that Anders wanted him there. He heard a small whimper break from his own throat as he held still.

“Maker, Fenris... move,” came Anders’ voice.

Still so slowly, still so gently, he withdrew, and slid home, again. He cried out at the sensation... the feel of the mage around him was unspeakably, unbearably exquisite. Each endless thrust pulled a harsh cry from his throat as the pleasure built. He pressed his cheek against the mage’s, hearing the breathless keen Anders made as they rocked together. 

The mage grasped Fenris’ ass with both hands, pulling the elf’s hips forcefully against him. “Harder, Fenris... harder... Maker, yes, you feel incredible... oh, love....”

What Anders needs, Anders gets... Fenris let himself go. He shifted his angle, and knew he’d found the spot when Anders gave a throaty, strangled shout. He felt his own cries turn to answering shouts as his body surged into the mage. Anders began to speak, part prayer, part profanity, as his body accepted the pleasure that Fenris was pounding into him.

Fenris felt his peak approaching, and reached between them, grasping at Anders’ weeping shaft. It was a clumsy motion, but judging by the mage’s reaction, it was perfectly right. Just a few strokes, and Anders’ voice filled the room with an ecstatic howl. As his body convulsed, and internal muscles clamped around Fenris in a pulsing grip, the elf was pulled under by unbearable pleasure.

Fenris floated, feeling his aftershocks answered by those of the mage in whose body he reposed. Anders’ arms wrapped around him, and he flipped them over, Fenris now pinned beneath the mage. Slowly, carefully, he pulled his body off of the elf’s softening shaft, and slipped to the side to snuggle into the space between Fenris’ side and arm.

Fenris turned his head to look at the mage. Both still breathed heavily, hearts thumping pleasantly. Anders looked blissfully happy. “Feel good?” Fenris asked.

“Mm-hm. Feel amazing.” 

“You look amazing,” Fenris added, running a slightly shaky hand through the golden mop resting on his shoulder. 

Anders opened his eyes in surprise. “Do I?”

“Watching you on the beach today; shirtless, in the firelight, gloriously happy... such a sight to behold. You are beautiful, Anders. I can scarcely believe you are--” he stopped. Maybe Anders didn’t want to think of himself as... someone’s.

“Yours?”

“I should not presume....”

Anders laughed softly. “Presume away. I am yours, Fenris. Heart and soul.”

Fenris hummed happily. “Mine. You are mine,” he tried it out... and liked it.

Anders hummed agreement. “I won’t say the same of you, Fenris. I know the words meant something entirely different, once.”

“Say it.”

Anders’ kind, soft voice spoke. “You are mine....”

“Say it, again.”

“You are mine.”

“Again....”

“You are mine".

“Yes... I am yours.” He pressed a kiss into the mage’s soft hair. “It does mean something entirely different.”

“You are mine, and I love you.”

“There is the difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders is making his way to himself, again. He'll never be just the same... but, he'll be good.


	16. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because I broke canon, doesn't mean Meredith won't go bat-crap crazy. Just sayin'.

Time passed, and they continued to build their life together. Anders and Fenris again went on occasional jobs with Hawke. The mansion was eventually put up for auction by the city. Varric called in a few well-placed favors from the Merchants’ Guild, and it was purchased by Fenris for a pittance. 

Anders continued running the clinic in Darktown. He rejoiced, daily, in the return of his magical ability. Knight Captain Cullen’s initial report, stating that the Darktown Clinic was run by a non-magic-using healer, continued to keep templar interest averted.

Cullen’s prediction of madness taking the city was proved correct. One fateful day, Knight Commander Meredith and Senior Enchanter Orsino engaged in an argument that escalated into a call for Annulment of the Circle, and then into city-wide slaughter. Hawke and his gang of misfits were part of this battle. They, with Cullen and a majority of the templars, defended the mages and townsfolk alike from Meredith’s red lyrium-addled insanity. Had it not been for the intervention of Hawke and his crew, the casualty rate would have been much higher.

In time, the city recovered. However, the massacre at the Gallows spawned a rebellion among mages in circles near and far. The efforts of Hawke and newly promoted Knight Commander Cullen kept relative peace in the city of Kirkwall. Anders and Fenris initially went on missions to bring groups of mages under control as they spread terror and mayhem in neighboring villages and farms. Even with Anders attempting to talk them down, many mages turned to blood magic. Finally, Anders tearfully declared that he wanted nothing to do with the rebellion. Too many of the mages were as out of hand and dangerous as templars had ever been. He mourned for those who lost control. He prayed for a resolution, and continued to help the frightened refugees of Darktown. When mages declared they wanted nothing to do with blood magic, he guided them to his contacts that could help them out of the city, or Free Marches.

Fenris continued to work with Hawke to help quell the fighting in and around the city. He was pleased well enough that Anders didn’t wish to join the rebellion. He saw first hand the ongoing, continuing carnage. The thought of Anders amongst that... it froze his heart. 

In time, life came to resemble as much of normalcy as it was likely to, in Kirkwall. Each day, the former slave and former abomination did their part to create peace and hope within the city. Each night, they turned to one another to find peace and hope together. 

And, always found the most important thing... love.

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I waxed sugary sweet romantic on the tail-end, there. Can't help myself.  
> Thank you for reading my tale! It was my first fan fiction, and it was such a ride to get it out of my head and in print.  
> Happy DA-ing!


End file.
